


More Than Just My Secrets

by SeeThemFlying



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, F/M, Jaime and Brienne have been getting "busy", Jaime is stupidly in love and Brienne doesn't know what to do about it, Mentions of canon typical violence, POV Brienne of Tarth, Post-Book Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed, Time Loop, Time Travel, WHAT OF IT?, Weirwood Dreams, Yes that title is in reference to an Ed Sheeran song, book canon, cheaper by the dozen AU, post-adwd, time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/pseuds/SeeThemFlying
Summary: "Sleeping in your armour? Are you ever off duty?""What business is it of yours?" she barked. "Are you trying to look for a chink in my chainmail?""Always, wench. You should keep your eyes on me."Much to her displeasure, Brienne of Tarth has been instructed by Lady Catelyn to transport Jaime Lannister to King's Landing in exchange for her daughters. Due to her sacred oath, Brienne is just about able to resist running him through with her sword, even though he is the most irritating man on Planetos.Even so, things change one night while she is guarding him, when Brienne falls asleep on a weirwood stump and has a very strange dream causing her perceptions of Ser Jaime to shift...AKA.ASOSBrienne wakes up twenty years in the future and finds herself radically, unashamedly loved by her worst enemy, with whom she has twelve children.She freaks out about it.Written for the Jaime/Brienne Fic Exchange 2020
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 320
Kudos: 444
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	1. Their Past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladybugbear2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybugbear2/gifts).



> Ahhh, so here is my exchange fic! *I'm not freaking out*
> 
> This fic was requested by the lovely Ladybugbear2 who gave me two prompts that I merged into one:
> 
> 1.  
>  _Well, I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know  
>  She shares my dreams, I hope that someday I'll share her home  
> I found a love, to carry more than just my secrets  
> To carry love, to carry children of our own_
> 
> and...
> 
> 2\. Cheaper by the Dozen AU
> 
> These prompts then spiralled out of all control into this post-Book Canon character study that is unlike anything I have ever written before. I would ask you to guess who I am, but it is probably impossible given how different this is to all my other works.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

For safety, Brienne lead the small party of three through the woods either side of the Kingsroad, avoiding other travellers. They had experienced first-hand the horrors of war; in the mangled bodies of the poor tavern women only guilty of a few kisses, in the bandits they had been warned of on the road, as well as the wolves and lions who picked the Riverlands clean and let the smallfolk burn.

 _There is no honour in this war,_ Brienne thought darkly as she coaxed her horse to stop in a small moonlit clearing nestled in the woods. _No honour at all._

"We will camp here tonight," she announced firmly, dismounting with an easy leap. Her companions' expressions ranged from unreadable to sceptical. "Ser Cleos, I will take the first watch. Monster, I am going to tie you to that tree."

She pointed over at a rather sturdy oak at the corner of the clearing. The Kingslayer pouted at her. "Wench, we both know we will be much more comfortable if you let me share your bedroll. We could cuddle."

Brienne blushed, but tried not to let him see. The thought of cuddling, even with someone as reprehensible as the Kingslayer, always made her cheeks burn hot. Knowing such feelings were for people other than her, Brienne snapped at him in an attempt to put her embarrassment away.

"Shut up, or I'll cut your tongue out."

At her growling tone, the Kingslayer let out a harsh bark of laughter. "What will you do with it?"

"What do you mean?" she asked tersely, going to tie her horse to a tree.

"Well, a great big woman like you must have a use for a man's tongue," the Kingslayer smirked as he dismounted his own horse, "as I suppose most men don't give you theirs voluntarily."

Another fire of embarrassment invaded Brienne's cheeks, that she was only able to quell by spitting her fury out at him. "Be quiet, monster, or I really _will_ cut your tongue out."

"Lady Brienne," said Ser Cleos weakly as he dismounted his own horse. "I know my cousin is rude, but if we could please try not to inflame the situation..."

Brienne closed her eyes and sighed. She knew Ser Cleos was right; Lady Catelyn had trusted her with this quest of returning the Kingslayer to King's Landing in exchange for Sansa and Arya, so it would not bode well for her to get into a verbal sparring with him that could lead to actual physical violence.

Even if he was very, _very_ frustrating.

"Of course, Ser Cleos, I will make sure I keep my temper in check," she said levelly, not looking at the Kingslayer. "As long as _he_ does the same with his tongue."

The Kingslayer smiled at Brienne in a way that showed her he intended to do no such thing, so in order to get some small piece of vindictive pleasure, she tied him extra tightly to the tree. As she brushed against him, Brienne could not help but notice how thin he felt beneath his rags. Wired and strong, yes, but thin.

"Copping a feel, are you?" he sneered, his green eyes shining.

Flushing to the roots of her hair, Brienne tightened the rope with a particularly aggressive yank. She was gratified to see him wince. "No. Shut up, Kingslayer."

"Whatever you say, _my lady."_

Once the Kingslayer was safely detained, Brienne went about collecting kindling to build a small fire. The temperature was rapidly dropping, and the atmosphere between the three companions was already chilly enough without adding to it. While Brienne searched the clearing, Ser Cleos retrieved some small, hard lumps of bread and cheese from his saddlebag, food they had picked up at _The Inn of the Kneeling Man._ It would have to serve as dinner tonight. When his cousin laid some of the cheese out on a napkin, the Kingslayer did not look impressed. "Do we have to live off stale bread?" he asked grumpily, turning his nose up at what Ser Cleos was offering. "We are in a forest. Surely, you could hunt something, coz? There must be some fat little rabbits around here, or even a pigeon."

Ser Cleos shook his head. "I am no hunter," he replied, picking up his eating knife and hacking at the bread with inelegant jabs. Brienne hoped he was trying to make it look as unappetising as possible for his monstrous cousin, even though she suspected it was because he was as unused to hard-living as the Kingslayer, who had grown fat and lazy in King's Landing.

"Come on, coz," said the Kingslayer, almost jovially as he attempted to bend Ser Cleos to his will. "You are a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, a Frey of the Royce branch. Surely you must hunt for sport?"

Clearly embarrassed by his cousin's probing questions. Ser Cleos shrugged non-committedly. "Somewhat, but that is always hunting stag with bows. I am not so proficient setting traps for small animals."

"What about you, wench?" asked the Kingslayer, growing bored with teasing Ser Cleos about his suspect masculinity. "Did your septa inform you how to make animal traps alongside embroidery, dancing, and the best ways to drown your liege lord's men by throwing almighty rocks at their skiffs?"

Sullen and resentful at the accusation, Brienne chose to ignore her prisoner and placed the small amount of kindling she had gathered from around the clearing at the centre of the space. It was not enough to make a huge bonfire, but it would have to do. It would not do well to be located due to dancing lights in the woods, after all.

"Ser Robyn Ryger is the captain of the guard for Lord Hoster Tully, who is _not_ my liege lord," replied Brienne, failing to keep her annoyance out of her voice as she went in search her flint and steel in her saddlebag. "I am sworn to Lady Catelyn, and Lady Catelyn wants you returned to King's Landing. Therefore, I had to throw a rock at Ser Robyn, because he was going to prevent me from doing my duty... which I _intend_ to do."

The Kingslayer pulled a face, partway been amusement and distaste. "Oh, how _honourable_ of you, wench."

"My name is not wench," she hissed, forcing herself not to look at him. "And if you would excuse me, I have a fire to light, lest you want to freeze to death tonight."

The Kingslayer smiled at her, cold and sharp as a blade's kiss. "Awww, look at that coz. The wench wants to keep me warm."

Sick of his taunts, Brienne turned her back on him, preferring to look at Ser Cleos' thin face and stringy hair as she tried to light the fire. Although the Kingslayer was much more handsome than his cousin, even with his bald head, there was something eminently punchable about his pretty face.

 _I made a promise to Lady Catelyn,_ she remembered ardently, picturing her liege lady's grief-shadowed face. _I will not fail her... so I will protect him from any who threaten to hurt him, even myself._

Given her oaths, Brienne made sure the Kingslayer ate some of the stale bread and cheese, even though he complained about it and said it made him feel sick. After he had eaten, he moaned he needed to piss, so Brienne untied him from the tree and took him into the woods so he could relieve himself. Although she was armed to the teeth, the Kingslayer seemingly could not resist trying to rile her.

"Are you looking?"

"No."

"You want to look, though?"

"No."

"Yes you do."

"No, I don't."

"I can tell you do, because you are already blushing," he grinned, as he undid his breeches and began pissing against a nearby tree. "As with men's tongues, I don't think you've been near too many men's cocks. Are you sure you don't want a look?"

"Positive. Whatever you've got between your legs doesn't interest me, Kingslayer."

Defiantly folding her arms across her chest, Brienne tried to ignore the Kingslayer's laughter as he continued to piss against a nearby tree. She tried to think of pleasant things; the blue waters of Tarth in summer, the powerful feeling of swinging a sword, the exact shade of Renly Baratheon's hair...

"I'm finished now. You can take me back to the camp, wench."

Settling on the idea that she would just be giving him more pleasure if she bit back, Brienne kept her mouth shut as she seized the Kingslayer by the arm and dragged him back towards the clearing, where they found Ser Cleos getting ready to bed down for the night under his cloak.

"I hope you do not mind, Lady Brienne, but I was thinking of picking this spot beneath this tree. It provides shade, you see, in case of rain..."

"That is fine," replied Brienne, having already eyed a place on the other side of clearing where she could rest her head on a severed weirwood stump. "I will sleep over there, as I must rest somewhere where I can keep an eye on the Kingslayer."

Ser Cleos gave her a nod of gratitude, while the Kingslayer just smirked. "Oh, you want to watch me while I sleep, wench?"

"Just to make sure you do not run away," she said imperiously, before giving him a harsh shove towards the tree she was going to tie him too. "I have sworn a sacred oath."

Jaime rolled his eyes. "I am already tired of you and your _sacred oaths._ The sooner we get back to King's Landing, the better."

Brienne could not agree more, so she forcefully pushed him against the nearest tree and set about tying him up. They were not back in King's Landing yet, so Brienne had to content herself with these small ways of restraining him, of preventing him breaking into her thoughts and antagonising her. As she tied him up, Brienne could not help but skirt her hands over his body. His arms were muscled and powerful, and she could not help but think of when she used to help Renly put his armour on. In contrast to her brusque abuse of the Kingslayer's body, she had treated Renly reverently as she put his pauldrons on, marvelling at the way his body seemed perfectly sculpted to be that of a perfect knight and lord. It was therefore a strange thing that Jaime Lannister's body held the same composed strength, the same beautiful lines, given everything it had done.

Everything _he_ had done.

Once she had him safely tied up, Brienne hurriedly left him alone. She did not like his taunting expression, the way he could slip under her skin with his cutglass smile and his abominable beauty. Marching away from, she crossed the clearing towards a tree stump that she thought would make a good pillow. After taking one of the saddlebags off her horse to feather her nest, she went to bed down. Amazingly, Ser Cleos was already snoring, but she could see that the Kingslayer's eyes were still open, watching her interestedly.

The moment her head touched her impromptu pillow, the Kingslayer laughed. It was dark and full of shadows. "Sleeping in your armour?" he teased from his position tied to the tree. "Are you ever off duty?"

Brienne did not answer him. How could a man as beautiful, rich, and feared as the Kingslayer ever know what it was like to be a woman lost on the road, with only enemies and her sword for company? Although she trusted that Ser Cleos would stay on his side of the clearing, if the Kingslayer managed to escape his bonds Brienne was in no doubt that he was coming for her. She had to be on her guard.

"What business is it of yours?" she barked. "Are you trying to look for a chink in my chainmail?"

He arched one of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows, in an expression that made him look poised and ready to strike. "Always, wench. You should keep your eyes on me."

To piss him off, she rolled over and shut her eyes tight. He did not deserve her attention.

Luckily, the Kingslayer did not continue to goad her once she turned her back on him, meaning that she could take the slow journey from the waking world into slumber. As she closed her eyes, Brienne found her mind drifting to her father. She had run away from Selwyn Tarth's house for the love of Renly Baratheon, but in doing so she had failed in two duties; not only had she been unsuccessful in saving Renly from shadows in the night, she had also disappointed her father. As she was big and ugly and not enough, Brienne could never be the heir he so desperately needed, as any man would take one look at her and turn away in disgust rather than marry her for the prospect of an island.

 _That is why I will not fail you, Lady Catelyn,_ she thought. _I will fulfil my vow to you, in the way I could not for Renly and my father._

_I will not fail you._

Falling into dreams, Brienne was back on Tarth in her father's Great Hall. Old Selwyn Tarth was smiling at her almost proudly and it almost brought tears to her eyes, especially when he announced that this ball had been thrown in honour of her marriage.

 _I am married?_ she wondered, gazing around the crowd of smiling faces to find her beloved. _Who is my husband? Where is my husband?_

As if in answer to her questions, the old oak door that punctuated the southern wall of the Great Hall suddenly swung open, revealing a shadow with black hair. His warm eyes glinted in the candlelight as his heavy cloak billowed around his feet. To Brienne, there was no doubt who he was.

_Renly._

Her beloved stepped into the hall, the handsome smile she had loved so well tilting in amusement. Yet something seemed strange. The cloak around Renly's shoulders was neither that of the rainbow warrior, nor the Baratheon stags. Instead, it was a cloak of brilliant scarlet adorned with roaring lions, embroidered with an expensive gold thread that sparkled in the light.

Brienne opened her eyes.

For a passing moment, she thought she had awoken in the middle of the night under the forest's canopy, because the sky was a deep blue and the stars were out, but then she blinked and saw the truth of it. That was no sky she was looking at, but the beautifully painted canopy of a four-poster bed. The wood had been decorated a deep blue, and a thousand stars and suns peppered across it in a neat, artistic hand. She confirmed her suspicions a moment later as to where she was when she felt the soft material of the mattress beneath her and the warmth pressed against her chest. Looking down, Brienne was shocked to discover a small child was lying on her breast, with a halo of golden curls crowning her head. With her pudgy little hands, the girl had pulled herself up and latched onto Brienne's nipple, just visible where her night dress has been pushed to one side. The girl suckled greedily, getting her fill, while Brienne could only stare at her, horrified.

 _This has got to be a dream,_ she told herself. _Or a nightmare._

However, it got worse. In gazing down at the child, she discovered that the girl was squashed just above Brienne's stomach. That wouldn't have been unusual - babies loved to be against their mother's breast, or so she heard - but the girl had been pushed upwards by her mother's belly, which was heavy and swollen with child.

"Oh gods," mumbled Brienne looking down at her baby and her unfamiliar body, trying to work out what in Seven Hells had just happened.

One thing was for certain; she wasn't in the Riverlands anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you have time amongst the mountain of fic reading you are probably doing today, please consider leaving a comment or kudos. I will love and cherish each and every one!


	2. Their Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Brienne wakes up twenty years in the future, she has to try to understand what has passed in the time she cannot remember...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for coming back for this story. I hope you enjoy it and, as ever, I would love to know what you think in the form of comments and kudos. Every single one means the world to me!

As Brienne laid on her bed, prone and shocked, her baby continued to suckle hungrily at her breast, her chubby little fingers grasping at her mother's shift.

_What in all Seven Hells...?_

Uncomfortable and confused, Brienne shuffled slightly, hoping that it would dislodge this strange dream from her reality as well as the babe from her breast. Unfortunately, nothing happened. She closed her eyes and then reopened them, irritated. Nothing again. The baby was still on her chest, her stomach was still swollen, and Brienne was still lying under a canopy of painted stars rather than real ones.

Unsure of what to do, Brienne tried to sit up, but the baby was not happy about that as the movement dislodged her from her mother's nipple. "Mama!" the milk-hungry girl cried, stretching her hands up towards Brienne, cute and greedy for love. "Mama! Mama! Mama!"

In spite of not really knowing what to do, Brienne bundled the girl into her embrace, holding her close and rocking her gently. "There, there, Mama's got you," Brienne said, the words feeling alien and strange as they came out of her mouth. Nevertheless, they were clearly correct as, evidently pleased, the child clung to her, even though Brienne's shift was slightly damp with milk and her bump still got in the way.

_What on earth...?_

Given that the fact she had a child on her breast that called her _Mama_ was truly preposterous, Brienne glanced around the room in order to determine where she was. It did not take her long to work out. She was in a medium size chamber with the large four poster bed she was sitting on in the middle. Hanging on every wall was a series of tapestries depicting the tale of Galladon of Morne. In one scene, Galladon charged a dragon on his horse. In another, the Maiden appeared from within a cloud, a crown of blue winter roses atop her head. In the last, the goddess' fire red hair twisted in complex braids to her waist, as Galladon knelt before her, golden haired and green-eyed, as she gifted him the Just Maid. For love, the singers said. Together, they formed a story that Brienne's father had told her a thousand times, and she was sure was now written onto her bones. It was those images, along with the stormy seas of Shipbreaker's Bay that she could see out the window, that told Brienne she was in her father's bedroom in Evenfall Hall on Tarth.

 _Why was I asleep in my father's bed with a babe at my breast?_ wondered Brienne, her panic rising. _I should be in the Riverlands with Ser Cleos and the Kingslayer. I swore an oath to Lady Catelyn, a holy oath! I need to get back to them._

Holding the babe awkwardly close to her chest, Brienne got out of bed and crossed the room, blinking to get her bearings. The first thing she noticed was a sword hanging in a bracket on the wall, with a lion head pommel encrusted with rubies and a blade so sharp she could almost hear it singing. She approached it tentatively, marvelling at its beauty.

 _That looks like Valyrian steel,_ she thought. _What is it doing here?_

Although normally she might have examined it longer, now was not the time. Still in a trance, Brienne walked across the chamber towards the great chest of drawers that her father used to keep all his trinkets in. At the sudden movement, the babe made a disgruntled whine, so Brienne patted her head with her large hand in an attempt to comfort her. Amazingly, the baby settled, allowing Brienne to open the cabinet with her free hand and search around for the looking glass. She did not know why she had gone searching for it - a hunch perhaps, or a foreboding feeling - but the second she found it, Brienne stared into the slightly misty glass looking for answers.

In her shock, she nearly dropped the mirror.

Everything that had ever made Brienne of Tarth ugly was staring angrily back at her; her broken nose, her crooked teeth, her lank hair, her blotchy unsightly freckles. Septa Roelle had been nothing but honest when she told her that the mirror never lied, but this new truth was almost unbearable. Brienne was older than she had been yesterday, perhaps by a good twenty years. Her pale hair was now white in places, her skin sagged a little around her chin, and there were crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. Yet the fact that she was now old on top of being ugly was not the worst thing of all. Instead, what horrified Brienne the most was the unsightly scar stretched across her cheek and the red burn around her neck, new and horrible and damning.

 _Gods,_ she thought as she stared at it, invading and imposing as an infection. _If I wasn't a monster before, I surely am now._

As her eyes began to well with tears, Brienne slammed the mirror down on top of the cabinet. She did not want to look anymore. During her childhood, Brienne had avoided her reflection as much as possible, because she knew how ugly and hateful it told her she was. Yet she had never imagined that it could get any worse than it had been, never imagined it could get like _this._

Her tears were threatening to overtake her when she was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open. Wiping her eyes quickly, Brienne turned to see a servant she did not recognise entering the room.

"PI-A!" cried the babe in Brienne's arms, waving her chubby little arms in the direction of the woman who had just entered the room. "PI-A! PI-A!"

"Good morning Lady Cerissa," said Pia warmly, covering her hand with her mouth as she came to talk to Brienne's child. "How are you today, m'lady?"

"PI-A! PI-A!" Cerissa continued to call excitedly, wiggling around in her attempt to get closer to the servant. Being the inexperienced mother she was, Brienne nearly dropped her.

Luckily, Pia clearly knew what she was doing, as she made a cooing noise. "M'lady, do you want me to take the babe for a moment? It seems she is in a fussy mood."

"Yes please," replied Brienne quickly, before allowing Pia to take little Lady Cerissa off her. She tried to pretend it did not hurt when her daughter looked much happier in Pia's arms than her own, but she was not sure how successful she was at that.

"Well, my little lady, it is about time we go and get you washed. Your Papa will be back today, and we want you looking your best, don't we?"

Brienne nearly choked on thin air. "Her Papa?"

"Yes," replied Pia, barely paying Brienne any mind as she rocked Cerissa in her arms. "Your lord husband will be back from Braavos this evening, if the winds are well. Of course I will try my hardest to make sure the children look presentable - that Selwyn isn't covered in grass stains or Catelyn hasn't cut off all her hair in a fit of pique - but you know how they are. Sometimes, lion cubs are unwilling to be tamed."

Pia smiled at Brienne through her ruined teeth as if she expected her to understand what exactly she was saying. Unfortunately, Brienne's mind was still caught on the knotty reality of the phrase _lord husband_ and had not really moved on from there. Consequently, she decided to just nod.

"Of course, _Pia_ ," she said, emphasising the woman's name in an effort to appear as a real person rather than as an automaton, "I understand." She paused, bolstering herself up for the next thing she had to say. "And my... my... _children._ Where are they?"

"In the Great Solar," said Pia, matter-of-factly, if that was not a sacred room that Brienne had barely been allowed entry to when she had been the gawkish girl-child living on Tarth as her father's only heir. "I can take Lady Cerissa to join them, if you wish, m'lady? I know you have been trying to get her onto solid foods recently, and maybe she would be more open to that idea with her brothers and sisters around her."

Brienne nodded, thankful at the thought of having some time alone. "Yes please. I need some time to ready myself. Will you take her there? I will join you as soon as I can."

Pia gave Brienne the best curtsey should could manage with a large babe in her arms, before going to leave the room. "Oh, one more thing m'lady?"

"Yes?"

"Cook wants to know what wine you want to serve at the feast tonight. Shall we open the Arbor Gold?"

Brienne nearly choked on thin air. She knew little about wine other than Arbor Gold was very, _very_ expensive and should only be opened on a once in a lifetime occasion. She did not see why tonight was so special. "No," instructed Brienne, shaking her head. "I would not have the Arbor Gold opened tonight."

Pia looked surprised by this order, but nevertheless nodded her head. "Of course, m'lady. I'll tell Cook at once."

Cuddling Cerissa closer to her, Pia then finally left the room, leaving Brienne perfectly alone. Although she had been desiring solitude from the moment that she woke up to find Cerissa in her arms, she suddenly realised it did not make anything better.

 _Children? Plural?_ she thought, panicked, the idea of babes whose faces she did not know scaring her. _I must be a terrible mother. Who would want me to be their mother?_

Her own mother had died young, so young that Brienne could not remember her. She had no idea how to be a mother, as she had never had a model. Septa Roelle had been there to educate her about the facts of life, not love her, while her father's ever changing parade of washerwomen, merchant's wives, and fishermen's daughters were only there to warm his bed.

 _What does a mother look like?_ Brienne wondered. _Not like me, but perhaps a little like Lady Catelyn._

Brienne went to wash herself in the basin of water that stood at the corner of the room. While splashing her face, she thought about her children - Selwyn, Catelyn, and Cerissa - who she did not know but had apparently pushed out from between her thighs. She wondered what they looked like; she hoped like their father. Even if she had no idea who the man was, and he turned out to be the worst mix of Gyles Caron, Ronnet Connington, and Humfrey Wagstaff combined, it would only be a blessing if they looked like him instead of her.

 _Especially now I am truly hideous,_ she thought darkly.

After she was clean, Brienne went over to the wardrobe to find something to wear. What did a mother put on to play that part? Brienne had been terrible at being the maiden, but maybe she could find some solace in a mother's garb? To her surprise, the wardrobe gave her plenty of options; there were breeches and shirts as well as petticoats and gowns. The woman who wore these was obviously very different to the girl who had fallen asleep in the Riverlands, the Kingslayer chained by her side. From the fact she even had a beautiful silk gown with a fancy brocade, Brienne thought she seemed more comfortable in her own skin than her gawkish younger self had ever been. That or her husband forced her to pretend to dress as someone she could never truly be.

 _This is only a part I have to play,_ Brienne told herself as she ran a comb through her knotted hair. _Only until I wake up from this strange dream._

She chose a pair of dark blue breeches and a silken shirt in sky blue, the collar embroidered with the sun and stars of Tarth. It was something Brienne would wear, but also something that she could imagine Lady Catelyn adopting if she had to suffer through the warm climes of the Stormlands. Adopting her liege lady's particular brand of feminine bravery, after she was washed and changed Brienne eventually found the courage to leave her chamber and head towards the Great Solar and her children. She attempted to approach with the determined resolve of a mummer playing a part but, the second she stepped out of her room, she was inundated with people greeting her deferentially, as if she were someone important. It was distracting.

"Good morning, m'lady."

"Good day, Lady Evenstar."

"M'lady."

As a child on Tarth, Brienne had shrunk into the shadows, not wanting to be noticed by anyone, least of all the servants. She knew they had all wished that Selwyn Tarth would marry for a second time and give them an Evenstar who could be Galladon of Morne come again. Consequently, it was quite unnerving to have members of her household respectfully acknowledging her presence, tugging their forelocks like they had for her father. Their salutations made her speed up, her beating heart resounding in her chest like a drum marching her into battle. It only stopped when she arrived at the Great Solar.

If she was look for refuge in her father's old sanctuary, however, she was to be seriously disappointed.

When Brienne had been a girl, the solar she found herself in had been a quiet retreat when the Great Hall got too crowded and rowdy for the Evenstar. Often, her father would request Brienne's company in this room, and they would discuss her latest betrothal; first Gyles Caron, then Ronnet Connington, and finally Humphrey Wagstaff. They had spoken in hushed voices, mostly because Brienne had longed to prove that she could hold her father's attention for longer than two minutes, momentarily distracting him from his latest woman, and that meant he had to take her _seriously_. Her tone had been suitably deferential. Consequently, Brienne remembered this being as silent as a sept; reverent, devotional, solemn.

All these years later, it was quite the opposite.

"It wasn't me that stole your comb, Argella, it was Joanna!" screamed a golden haired banshee at an identical golden haired banshee.

"Like I believe that, Alysanne!" shouted her reflection right back in her sister's face. "You are always stealing my things. Just because we are twins it doesn't mean we are the same person and you can take my things!"

"Can you please stop jumping on the table?" asked their brother quietly. "You are stepping on my books..."

"SHUT UP PODRICK!"

In the corner, a boy who looked to be about twelve was telling a slightly younger girl a fantastic tale. "I know Papa is finding me somewhere, Joanna, I just know! Ever since Mama and Papa sent Arthur and Galladon to be squired at Riverrun, I have known my time is coming!"

His solidly built sister looked a little sceptical. "Selwyn, I know you hope, but Papa is in the Free Cities..."

"DRAGON ATTACK!!!" screamed an excited looking boy of around four, running past Selwyn and Jo with his arms stuck out like the outstretched wings of a monster. A solid looking sister cantered behind him, copying him, roaring and pretending to breath fire.

"Gerion, I burnt your tail!"

"No you didn't, Cat, keep flying!"

As Gerion and Cat zoomed around the room, screaming and laughing, the tumult only grew louder and louder, like percussive war drums which already heralded the beginning of a battle. Pia was in the corner still holding a babbling Cerissa in her arms, laughing at the children's antics. While she had a fond smile on her face, Brienne could only stare, baffled, at this group of screeching, screaming monsters, all of whom she had apparently given birth to. Indeed, the evidence of that fact was writ on their faces. All of the children looked to be cut from the same cloth; they were all tall, blonde, and most of them were freckled. Some of them veered towards being large and bulky like Brienne herself (especially the unfortunate looking eldest daughter hiding in the corner, and one of the younger sons with the glasses), whereas others were leaner, catlike, and golden (which seemed especially apparent in the two identical girls who looked to be around ten).

 _They must look like their father,_ Brienne thought confusedly. _So he must be some sort of forest nymph to produce children like them with me._

"You look surprised to see your children, m'lady," commented Pia, coming to stand beside Brienne. That she was simultaneously holding Cerissa and smiling while trying to hide her ruined teeth was an impressive feat.

"Not _surprised_ ," replied Brienne, edging towards a lie. "Just... astounded. When I was a child, this chamber was so quiet. And this is..."

"A riot?" suggested Pia, with a little quirk of an eyebrow. When Brienne scrunched up her face to indicate she objected to that term for this hoard of her sort-of children, Pia let out a warm, familiar laugh. "Sorry if that insults you, m'lady, but that is what your Lord Husband often calls it, anyway."

The tension crept up Brienne's spine at the mention of her Lord Husband. In spite of the spun-gold appearance of her children, Brienne could not help but think of him as possessing Gyles Caron's dry cough, Humphrey Wagstaff's greying whiskers, and Ronnet Connington's unkind eyes. Shadows crept in at the thought of him, but then Gerion and Cat thundered past Brienne once more, all childish glee and joy, like sunshine peeking through the clouds.

"I'll be Drogon, you be Dreamfyre, and Papa can be Balerion the Black when he gets back!" called Cat, as she skidded under the table on which Podrick was attempting to read his books. The horrified little expression he pulled set Pia off laughing again.

"Nothing like Big Podrick is he?" she smiled, finally revealing her set of broken teeth. In spite of the servant's glee, Brienne could not help but wonder how it had happened. "Or his parents. Much more like his bookish uncle. One day he'll be a Maester, no doubt!"

Brienne nodded, even though she no idea who Big Podrick, the boy's father, or the mysterious bookish uncle was. They all seemed to be new characters in this story she was living, written in a book she had never read, in ink that that not yet been committed to page. None of it seemed to make any sense.

Putting aside the fact that she could not remember getting married or having children or growing older, Brienne now also had to deal with a new meaning of the word _family_ that was being imposed on her. Family to Brienne was a small, careful cord that had connected herself to her father, encompassing them both in a bond destined, desired, and detested. There was no one Brienne sought to please as well as Selwyn Tarth, and no one whose approval she so craved. A long time ago, Brienne assumed that bond had included Galladon and her mother too. Yet they were both dead, so that cord had been snapped, never to be repaired again. Uncle Endrew had been up at the Wall for most of Brienne's life, so she hardly knew him outside a few perfunctory letters. Consequently, family to Brienne had just been her, her father, and the grief that weighed heavy between them. Her longing to be every family member he had lost ate her up and consumed her until she was Brienne and Galladon and Endrew and Mother, her whole being pulled in seven hundred directions at once. It almost tore her apart. As Brienne had tortured herself upon the rack by being everything at once, her father had loved her in his own way, she supposed, and had given her a sword and let her train with Goodwin. Nevertheless, it was a love that spoke of his lack of understanding. And it was a love that was conveyed in whispers, not this tumult.

"GIVE ME BACK MY COMB!"

"I DIDN'T TAKE YOUR COMB!"

"DRAGON ATTTTAAAACCCCKKKK!!!!!"

 _Is this a nightmare?_ thought Brienne wildly as she watched Argella tug Alysanne's hair sharply (or was it Alysanne tugging Argella's hair? She couldn't remember) and Gerion and Cat swoop around the room. _Or have I simply gone insane?_

Pia did not to seem effected though as she went to help little Podrick manage his books, because the boy was sniffling over the fact his sisters had trampled all over them. Selwyn was still complaining to his sister Joanna very loudly while she patted him on the back. Cerissa was making excitable squeaking noises in Pia's arms, while the eldest daughter (who Brienne did not know the name of) was begging Alysanne and Argella to stop screaming. The noise, building and building like a great thunderstorm, was so at odds with the quiet tranquillity that Brienne had always associated with home that it finally caused her to snap.

"EVERYBODY. BE. QUIET!"

As one, all the children turned to face their mother. She suddenly noticed that, even though they all sat on a spectrum between herself and their mysterious father appearance wise, they still all looked strangely similar. No one was the odd one out. They were all family.

"Mama, what's the matter?" asked one of the golden haired banshees, Argella or Alysanne.

Pairs upon pairs of matching eyes gazed up at her, curious and concerned. Each and every one of these children was an innocent she had brought into the world, and they were now staring at her as if she had gone mad.

"It's just very noisy in here," said Brienne stiffly, feeling somewhat disorientated in this room that she knew well but was entirely unfamiliar at the same time. "It hurt my ears."

The boy Podrick got out of his seat and smiled at her, his face still damp from his tears over his books. "Sorry Mama. We're just excited, that's all."

"What for?"

"Papa is coming home!" said the youngest girl, who Brienne thought was called Cat. "We haven't seen him for years!"

"He's only been gone a few weeks, idiot!" said the other golden banshee, rolling her eyes.

Cat waved a hand at her sister dismissively. Brienne could already tell that she was a handful. "It has been _years."_

"Will Papa bring presents back from Braavos?" asked Gerion, his green eyes wide. "When he went to Myr he brought us those wooden horses, and I really want a dragon to go with them."

Cat started fidgeting excitedly. "Ooooh, I want a dragon too!"

"And I want a sword!" chimed in Selwyn. "Arthur and Galladon got swords before they were squired at Riverrun, so surely it is my turn now?"

Podrick countered that request with another even more fanciful dream. "I would love a copy of Grand Maester Kaeth's _Lives of Four Kings._ I know they have a large book market in Braavos. Would Papa have gone there?"

Eight pairs of enthusiastic eyes gazed up at Brienne searching for answers but, unfortunately, she did not have any. She did not even know who their Papa was, nor whether he was a generous man who might buy books, swords, and carved toys for his children. Not knowing what to say, Brienne began to stammer. "I don't... I... I..."

"I am sure your Papa will bring you lots of presents," Pia interjected quickly, causing the children to cheer. "He is a very generous man after all."

Although her mysterious husband's virtues were a positive, that statement seemed to end Brienne's tentative control over her children, as they descended once more into excitable babble.

The eldest daughter clapped her hands. "Do you remember when he bought a peacock quill back from Norvos?"

"What about a different scabbard for Oathkeeper?" suggested Selwyn enthusiastically. "With sapphires instead of rubies!"

"DRAGON FIREBAAAAAAAAL!"

As the noise in the room began to build again, an extreme disorientation overtook the apparent Evenstar. This room was made for quiet contemplation, not childish screams, just as Brienne herself was not made for motherhood or being someone's wife or...

"M'lady, you look a little pale," said Pia concernedly. "Are you alright?"

Brienne blinked, the image of her children finding joy and pleasure in their excitement almost too much for her. It felt like such a break with her own childhood, her own past, that she needed to take stock of herself. "Yes, I just need some air..."

Turning on her heel, Brienne let the room, sucking great gulps of air in when she reached the safety of the cool corridor.

 _What is happening?_ she thought distantly as the door shut behind her. _Why am I here? What is going on?_

"M'lady?" The door opened again as Pia came through, Cerissa still bundled in her arms. "Are you well?"

Brienne waved a dismissive hand at her. "Yes, yes, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You seemed a little... distant with the children."

"It's nothing," said Brienne, not quite meeting Pia's eye. "I just need some air. I want to spend the day in the hills. I need to feel the sunshine on my skin."

Shuffling Cerissa in her arms, it took Pia a little moment to respond, but when she did, she looked somewhat confused. "Won't you be coming down to Port Town with the children, then?"

"Why would we be going to the port?" asked Brienne. During her own childhood, her father had never taken her to the port - never taken her anywhere, really - but she often wondered whether that was because there was nothing interesting at the port or there was more joy to be found for Selwyn Tarth in his legion of women than in his daughter.

Pia furrowed her brow. "Your lord husband is returning, or course. The children love to see him when he comes back from business in the Free Cities, and I am sure he would want to see you, m'lady."

"Me?" said Brienne, surprised.

"Yes, _you_ m'lady," said Pia firmly, as Cerissa pulled at her hair. "I am sure your husband has missed you greatly and would take pleasure in your company." Although Pia's words were meant to be reassuring, there was something sad and strangely bitter in the servant's tone. Brienne was a bit unsure as to why, but the mystery was solved when Pia added to her initial statement. "And any woman would take great pleasure in your _husband's_ company, I'm sure."

Pia's heady blush told Brienne everything she needed to know about Pia's connection to the Lord of Tarth. Selwyn Tarth had filled his bed with one washerwoman after another, so it was not surprising that Pia would be Brienne's husband's lover. Even in spite of her broken teeth, she was still a beauty, after all.

_Unlike me..._

"I will not be coming to meet my lord husband, no," said Brienne stiffly, turning away from the woman she realised was the shadow in her marriage. "I have business in Morne... in the hills..."

Pia pulled a slightly disgruntled face. "But what about the children? You said you wanted to get them ready for Lord Jai--"

"Would you be so kind to see to that, Pia?" asked Brienne, recognising that as she cared for Brienne's husband, Pia also cared for his golden haired children. "I will be back later, I promise."

She nodded. "Of course, m'lady. Is there anything else you need?"

 _Fresh air,_ Brienne thought, even as she said something quite different.

"No, that will be fine, Pia," said Brienne, giving her a weary smile. She could not blame Pia for being a lord's mistress; perhaps it made a hard life a little easier. "I will be back before it gets dark."

Although Pia seemed a little startled by that exclamation, she just nodded and then gave a little curtsey, allowing Brienne to pass her by. It was obvious she was confused, but Brienne barely had time to care. How could she explain what had happened and that she was now running close to mad?

As she turned down the corridor, Brienne decided she needed answers before she found solutions.

For one, she now had to make sense of this giant castle she found herself in. Where once it had been her home, it now seemed to Brienne to be the set for a giant tableau that a mummer might perform, filled with hundreds of unfamiliar faces she did not know and could not bring herself to trust. As she began to explore, she came across some of them. Outside the great hall, she bumped into a scullery maid who gave her a deferential nod. In the quadrangle, she glided past the blacksmith - a ruddy faced man with a mop of black hair - who waved at her cheerfully. Unfortunately, Brienne did not know his name, so she returned his gesture then dashed on before he could speak to her. Even worse were the two young men she found sparring in the courtyard. They were both fairly well dressed, denoting they were not servants, but Brienne did not recognise either of them. The first was a tall, skinny man with brown hair and eyes, around thirty years of age, with a surcoat of ten mullets, purple on yellow. The other man he sparred with was his younger by a few years, with dark brown hair and matching eyes, and a familiar looking rope burn on his neck. He broke into a happy grin the second he saw Brienne.

"My lady," he called, waving to her in a way that made his opponent stop sparring at once. "Do you fancy a round? Josmyn is tiring already."

The other man made a _tsk_ sound. "No, I am not! Podrick just always thinks he's got the best of me."

"I _was_ trained by the best," Podrick smiled, grinning warmly at Brienne. Not getting the reference, she just nodded confusedly. Having seen some of his fighting, she had to conclude that this Podrick was talented and had clearly been taught by someone very skilled, but she had no idea who. "Perhaps you could test me, my lady?"

At Podrick's offer, Josmyn shot him a knowing look accompanied by a smile. Some would construe it as friendly, but when Podrick returned Josmyn's grin with one of his own, Brienne instantly saw the teasing joke in it. Why would two young men who had clearly been trained someone sufficiently skilled want to spar with her unless it was a mockery?

"I can't," she spluttered, feeling exhausted and confused in spite of the fact she had just woken up. "I've got to go... I've got to..."

Not wanting to be stuck pretending to two people she did not recognise that she was the Evenstar they knew, Brienne dashed past Podrick and Josmyn - who just looked a little bemused - and headed to Evenfall Hall's main gate.

 _I need to get out of here,_ she thought desperately as she started to panic. _Before anyone realises that I am trapped in a nightmare._

Once she was outside the castle gates, Brienne knew just where to go. Galladon's Hill overlooked Evenfall Hall, and it was there she had run as a child after Septa Roelle had boxed her ears, whipped her, or told her what a stupid, ugly thing she was. There had been no point going to her father, after all. If Brienne had burst into his solar unannounced, she was likely to find him with a girl on his lap and a glass of wine in his hand. Her tears would have only earned her a sage _words are wind_ and a promise he would talk to Roelle.

He never did.

The hills were her only refuge. That Brienne had spent so much time exploring her trauma here as a child meant she knew the pathways like the back of her hand. As she paced up them - one foot in front of the other - old feelings came flooding back, called by the repetitive action of running into the arms of nature, longing to hide. The fear and terror that had so dogged her life before she had run away to join Renly Baratheon rushed her all at once, making her heart hammer and her brow drip with sweat. She marched more quickly up the hill in an attempt to burn away her sorrow, to tire herself out until she had no more room for pain.

She had always been an ugly thing.

_Climbing... climbing... climbing..._

Once she reached the top of the hill, Brienne had a view of the whole island, of _her_ island. She could see Evenfall Hall in the valley below, as well as Port Town skirting the shore in the distance. If she turned around, she could see Morne, the ancient capital of the Petty Kings of Tarth, gleaming white. When she had run here as a child, struggling to believe that Evenfall was not a prison of disappointment and pain but her home, she had thought of her ancestors. Her stony faced foremothers had arrived in Tarth from across the Narrow Sea, Andal warriors to the bone, and Brienne had found solace in them and the harsh, windswept nature of the island that spoke of their struggles. It had been better than staying inside, to be whipped and punished by Septa Roelle for being a freak, a hulking monster of a girl who had no hope of blooming into a beautiful lady.

 _I am married now,_ she thought sadly, sitting down on the ground in order to look at the view. _Now Septa Roelle will have been replaced by my husband, who must treat me with equal disdain._

Her hand dropped to her belly, round with child.

 _An ugly brood mare, whom he despises while enacting his pleasures on the maids,_ she thought sadly, as the tears began to well in her eyes. _How could he want me when he has Pretty Pia? He will be like Ronnet Connington, Humfrey Wagstaff, or my own father. How could it be anything different, when I am ugly, brutish, and dull?_

Brienne spent such a long time high in the hills that she did not stir from her sadness until the sun was beginning its descent behind the horizon. It was then she first noticed the ship. It appeared at the edge of the world as a small, dark dot, and it took some time for it to get close enough for Brienne to recognise it as a proud Braavosi cog. At first, Brienne found it strangely compelling to watch the ship cut through the rough waves of the Narrow Sea, but then she noticed the sails. Quartered pink and blue, they bore the sun and moon of Tarth, which instantly allowed Brienne to realise that this Braavosi cog was ferrying her dreaded husband home. No doubt Pia, Podrick, Josmyn, and Tarth's army of children were all waiting at the port for the mysterious Lord Husband to return home and they evidently would not have to linger in their anticipation much longer.

The moment the ship pulled into the harbour, Brienne set off back down the hill. She was determined to be back to Evenfall Hall before her husband. That way she could be the master of their battlefield terrain, more prepared than her opponent. Brienne knew this would be a battle, after all. Her three previous betrotheds had all desired things from her - her childbearing hips, her riches, her island - and so it was too likely that the man she had been forced into marriage with wanted something of her too.

And it would not be her love. Brienne knew enough of the world to realise that depressing fact was nothing but the truth.

Due to this knowledge, it was to her immense satisfaction that, when she returned to Evenfall Hall, there was no sign of the children, Pia, Podrick, Josmyn, or her mysterious Lord Husband, so Brienne made her way to her chamber as quickly as she could. Many of the servants gave her strange looks as she dashed past them, but she hardly cared. She needed to get back to her room, wrapped up in bed, and lost to dreams before her husband came home demanding his marital rights. Hopefully she would return to the Riverlands and the Kingslayer before this unknown man slithered into bed beside her.

 _What an odd hope,_ she thought. _I'm missing the Kingslayer._

On returning to her chamber, Brienne slammed the door behind her and rested against the wood, slowly gaining control of her breathing once more. When a girl, Tarth's Master-at-Arms, Goodwin, had taught her how to defend herself; how to sharpen her sword, outwit an enemy, and arm herself to defeat her foe. This battle - of kisses and sighs - she was not prepared for, so she decided to resort to old tactics. After hurriedly changing into her shift, Brienne found a dagger wrapped up in one of her gowns in the chest of drawers. Shaking it free of its confines, she slipped it under the cushion on which she would rest her head. It made for ease of access should her husband try anything. Surely, he would not want what was between her legs with a dagger at his throat?

With the dagger stored safely under her pillow, Brienne got into bed and attempted to go to sleep yet found it impossible. The minutes became hours as her thoughts once again turned to her father. She wondered how long he had been dead, and whether she had been at his bedside when he had passed. If not, was she still on her mission to fulfil her oaths to Lady Catelyn? Or had she returned home in time to find her dying father waiting for her with another suitor, and had acquiesced to his demands to marry just to assuage the guilt that sat at the very centre of her soul, authored by her knowledge that she was neither son nor daughter but freak?

As she tossed and turned, she could hear the sound of the welcome feast Pia had spoken of very distantly. Somebody had hired a singer, and everybody was warbling along to _The Bear and the Maiden Fair._ A part of Brienne that still loved songs and games longed to go down there, but the rational part of her brain remembered Connington's mocking rose. Even now in her own home she would be an ugly encumbrance, a thing to be hated and derided. It would be likely that her husband would have returned to his castle wanting a belly full of ale and his mistress' body, not the company of the wife he had been forced to wed and abhorred for her hideous face.

 _It is better I stay here, out of the way,_ she thought. _Better that he doesn't see me. Better that..._

Her spiralling thoughts silenced the second the door creaked open.

Her husband was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh!! I hope you liked that! This chapter was mostly a bit of scene setting, an exploration of Brienne's relationship with her father, and an introduction to her children but I promise... Jaime is coming next chapter.
> 
> In case anyone got lost with the twelve children Brienne now has, they are as follows: 
> 
> Arthur, 15 (squire to Edmure Tully at Riverrun)  
> Galladon "Gal", 13 (twin to Genna, squire to Edmure Tully at Riverrun)  
> Genna, 13 (twin to Galladon)  
> Selwyn, 12  
> Joanna "Jo", 11  
> Argella, 9 (identical twin to Alysanne)  
> Alysanne, 9 (identical twin to Argella)  
> Podrick, 7  
> Catelyn "Cat", 6  
> Gerion, 4  
> Cerissa, 2  
> Unborn baby
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	3. Their Marital Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime returns home...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Jaime makes an appearance in this chapter! I hope you enjoy :)

Brienne froze, unsure of what to do. Her _husband_ had just entered the room.

The door creaked on its hinge, almost yowling like a cat, making Brienne want to cover her ears. Yet she refrained from doing so. Instead, she focussed on keeping her breathing in check, whilst reminding herself again and again that there was a dagger hidden under her pillow.

_If he tries anything, I'll threaten to cut his balls off. Apparently, he's already got me with twelve children already. What is he going to need them for anyway?_

Brienne found laying silently in her bed while her head buzzed with thoughts difficult, but not as difficult as refusing to turn and look over her shoulder at the intruder she was supposedly married to and let into her bed every night. As he moved around behind her, she could hear the _thud_ of something heavy being put on the table, as well as the soft rustle of him removing clothes and boots. Not wanting to think of the man being momentarily naked as he changed into his nightwear, Brienne closed her eyes and tried to pretend to be asleep.

 _Maybe if I_ actually _fall asleep, I will wake up in the Riverlands with Ser Cleos and the Kingslayer,_ she thought desperately, hoping and praying it would be true. _Oh gods, how can it have got that bad that I am missing the Kingslayer of all people?_

Longing for the familiar danger of sword, shield, and open road, a terrible sickly feeling began to bubble in her stomach. As a knight, as a warrior, Brienne of Tarth wore armour as habit, to protect her most vulnerable flesh from blades, maces, and arrows. Yet when being a wife, she was not permitted any such protection; she was expected to lay silently in her bed as her husband stripped her bare and took what he wanted from her, with no recourse for self-defence. Consequently, when the mattress sank with his weight, Brienne was more terrified than she had ever been in her whole life.

 _It's a dream. It's a dream. It's a dream,_ she told herself over and over, hoping against all hope that she would blink and wake up just across the grove from the Kingslayer. _It's a nightmare, a nightmare, a nightmare, and soon I will wake up and everything will be alright again..._

"I know you are awake."

Brienne stilled. Her husband spoke so quietly it was almost a whisper, meaning she could not quite tease out any individual character his smooth timbre might possess. The only clue she did have to his identity was the arm that came to be slung over her waist. It was missing a hand but was warm all the same.

Wanting to bait him into speaking again in hopes of identifying him, Brienne said, "how did you know I was awake?"

"Your breathing," he replied quickly, his tone taking on the texture of warm honey. "We've shared a bed... and uncomfortable patches of grass... and that horrible smelly cot at Winterfell... for so long now that I know you like the back of my hand. Well, the hand I have left. When you are sleeping you sigh, whereas when you are awake, you sound as you do now. _Peaceful._ "

Unable to comprehend the strange thing that almost sounded like affection in her husband's voice, Brienne focussed on the information she could analyse. _Winterfell?_ she thought stupidly, as her husband moved his stump from her hip and placed it on the round swell of her belly. _Maybe he was one of Lady Catelyn's soldiers, and I met him through her._ Yet that did not completely square with what little information she had. Although her husband was speaking in a hush, making it difficult to tell, she did not think he had a northern accent. In fact, she was picking up a _southern_ accent; perhaps from the Crownlands, or even the Westerlands...

Brienne's analysis of the regional accents of the Seven Kingdoms ground to a sudden halt when her husband moved his stump to the crux of her thighs with almost an intense purpose. She froze when she realised his intent.

"I've missed you, my love," he whispered, pressing kisses onto the nape of her neck as she began to rub her _there_ with his handless arm. "Weeks without you... it is far too long." Although he did not have a hand, her husband managed to pull her closer to him, so she could feel every inch of his body, his strength, his desire, and his want. And _oh gods,_ his body was telling her he wanted her. While Brienne was still a maid (which was a little strange considering she had eleven children and a twelfth on its way), she knew what it meant when she felt something hard poking into the cleft of her buttocks.

"Gods, wench," he murmured next to her ear, "it's been weeks since we last touched. Why did you not come to the port to meet me? Or to the feast? I've missed you so badly."

If he had said anything else, it would have been his erection and the insistent way he was rubbing himself against her that would have terrified Brienne, but there was something in that last exclamation of his that struck her to her very core.

Wench. _Wench. WENCH._

Brienne's heart raced so furiously there was nothing she could do but reach under the pillow to make a grab for the knife. The second she had it in her hand, she performed the safety roll that Goodwin had taught her when she first trained in fighting, projecting herself out of the bed and upright before her opponent had time to think. That her opponent, her enemy, her _husband_ was the Kingslayer _,_ and that revelation both horrified and confused her.

"Don't you touch me," she spat, pointing her dagger at him with all the ferocity she had used a day ago (but years ago) when she tied him to a tree in the Riverlands. " _Don't. You. Dare_."

In leaping from the bed, Brienne had knocked the blanket off them both, leaving the Kingslayer naked, aroused, and confused, but he made no attempt to cover himself. Instead, he just kept staring at her as if she was playing a trick on him that he had not been expecting, entirely uncaring that everything was on display for her.

Brienne's throat went dry at the sight of him. He was an unearthly beauty, just as he had been when he was in chains. Perhaps she had been lying when she told him she was not interested in what he had between his legs.

"I thought we talked about this, wench," the Kingslayer said slowly, his eyes a mixture of hunger and confusion. "There will only be one type of swordplay in our bedroom, and it will not involve actual blades."

Too distracted by the fact that the Kingslayer was naked and not seemingly bothered about it, Brienne picked up one of the fallen blankets and threw it at him. "Cover yourself up!" she demanded, not quite able to cope with that beautiful, golden body. He was different to how he had been in the Riverlands - there was a smattering of silver in his hair now, and he was missing a hand - but he was still as handsome as he had ever been. Now as then, his beauty scared her.

Yet in spite of her demand, the Kingslayer seemed in no rush to obey her. "Why?" he asked, an amused smile erupting across his face. Some of his familiar teasing came back as he rearranged his legs slightly, which only gave her a better view of how much he wanted her. "It is not like you haven't seen it before. We have eleven children, with a twelfth on the way."

"It is indecent!"

The Kingslayer scoffed. "Is it indecent to lie naked with your husband in your marital bed, Brienne? Because if it is, you are a sinful wench as you've done it too many times to count."

Brienne was lost for words. She did not understand how _this_ could be her future. As a girl, she had known that one day she would take her father's position as Evenstar and also his chamber with the view over the sea. Her life had been littered with broken betrothals, which had led to a heart so well-armoured she was prepared to treat her marriage bed as a battlefield, but this was a fate worse than anything she could ever imagine. And yet the Kingslayer was lying there entirely nonchalantly, acting as if this was a natural thing.

While Brienne just continued to stare at him in confused horror, the Kingslayer smiled once more, before shuffling slightly to give her room to join him on the bed should she so wish. "If you are not in the mood to be _indecent_ tonight, we don't have to do anything," he said lazily, rolling onto his front to reveal his perfect, peachy arse. "We can just cuddle. I've missed you."

Perhaps it was the softness, or the warmth, or the incongruous domesticity of the scene in front of her, but the sight of the Kingslayer laying himself out for her in this way set Brienne's heart beating in fear. To comfort herself, she gripped the handle of her blade more tightly, and tried to focus on what was troubling her. It only took her a few moments to settle on the truth; that he was taking her threats so casually infuriated her, but that he would tease her about something so impossible like cuddling made her brandish her knife at him once more.

"What is this? Is this some kind of sick jape?"

"Jape?" asked the Kingslayer, narrowing his eyes at her. "You are the one waving a knife at your husband, Brienne, so it seems to me that _you_ are japing. I'm not sure what you are hoping to achieve with this - make me laugh, make my blood run hot for you - but if I am honest, it is reminding me too much of the early days when you despised me, so I would prefer sweet kisses and kind touches. Come back to bed."

He held his hand out to her, palm upturned invitingly. It was such a gentle gesture that it made Brienne wonder if it was not just her that was insane, but him too. Nobody had ever treated her like this - with a strange kindness and affection - and nobody ever _would_ treat her like this, as Septa Roelle had told her it was impossible for anybody to love her freakish, ugly face. Therefore, this _had_ to be a jape; a sick, horrible jape from a sick, horrible man. So she decided to hit him where it hurt.

"Sweet kisses and kind touches? Who do think I am? Your sister?"

The Kingslayer froze and for a moment he behaved as if Brienne had just slapped him. Finally, he grasped at the blanket and made to cover himself. "Wench, I..."

"Did you think I had forgotten?" she thundered, as he stared at her with those intense green eyes of his. "Did you try to keep it a secret when we married? That was foolish of you, Kingslayer, because I heard it all when I was waiting outside your dungeon with Lady Catelyn. I _heard_ everything."

"Wench, I..."

"Haven't you learnt in however long we've been married? My name is not _wench._ It is BRIENNE!"

As the name her father had given her reverberated around the room - _Brienne, Brienne, Brienne_ \- the Kingslayer pulled the blanket over his chest, covering himself. For a fleeting moment, it was his armour.

" _Brienne,"_ he said firmly, as if he wanted to pull her down from her fury and more towards him. "You know that nickname is an endearment, an affectionate..."

That idea was so preposterous that Brienne let out a huff of bitter laughter. "An endearment? Only yesterday you were hurling it at me as a term of abuse!"

At that mystifying statement, the Kingslayer cocked his head to one side. "I was not even _here_ yesterday. I was on that infernal cog from Braavos, lying in my cramped cabin thinking about what it would be like to be back on Tarth with my wife and children... with my wench. So please, put down the knife and come back to bed, sweetling. I've missed you."

Once again, the Kingslayer was looking at her so softly that for a moment Brienne felt beautiful, like an object of desire and a recipient of affection. Other women might have thought that charming, but she found it so horribly unnerving that she waved her dagger at him once more, wanting to ward off those feelings.

"I don't want to come back to bed with you," she spat, her eyes filling with tears. Maybe if she cried enough this would all go away, blurring and melting just as her sight of the scene was behind her veil of tears. "Why would I want to lie with you? You are the _Kingslayer!_ You murdered the man you had sworn a vow to! You spilled every terrible crime you have committed to Lady Catelyn, and you just expect me to forget that?"

"Brienne..."

"Just get out! I don't want you in here!"

All lingering amusement and tenderness vanished from the Kingslayer's face at that comment, and he just looked confused and hurt. "This is my bed just as much as it is yours. We share it, as man and wife, as..."

"No it is not," she said firmly, clinging onto the one thing she knew as indisputable fact. "I am the Evenstar, so this is _my_ room. My consort has another chamber on the other side of the castle should he wish to sleep. That was where my mother slept when my father was Evenstar. He only permitted his _women_ to sleep in here, and most of them were gone before a moon's turn. This room was his kingdom, just as it is mine, so _get out."_

To show she meant it, she flicked the dagger at him once more, its sharp edge shining silver in the light. The Kingslayer swallowed.

"You cannot expect me to sleep without you," he said, his voice tremulous. "We always sleep together, every night we are in the same place, so you cannot exile me to another room based on nothing but this sudden, irrational anger."

That comment unleashed a cold fury in her, so acute it almost burned. "Irrational? There is nothing irrational about my anger, Kingslayer. I do not wish to lie with a man whose hands are forever reddened with a dead king's blood."

The Kingslayer gazed up at her one last time, his expression imploring. However, Brienne would not be swayed. She continued to glare at him, dagger raised, fearing that if she gave an inch, he would take a mile.

 _I will not yield,_ she thought as he stared at her with his emerald green eyes. _I will not yield._

Thankfully, eventually, he did.

"You are clearly upset about something," the Kingslayer said, withdrawing from the bed and searching around for his clothes. "Maybe it is better if we talk in the morning, when you are feeling less... riled."

"Perhaps," she snapped, hoping against all hope that in the morning she would be back in the Riverlands, safely hidden from this strange nightmare.

The tone of her voice told him that she would not let up, so the Kingslayer got dressed then turned to go. She did not drop her dagger the whole time, not even when his hand touched the hard oak of the door to their chamber.

"Brienne," he said quietly, gazing over his shoulder.

"What?"

"I love you with all my heart."

He was gone before she could think of an appropriate reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! What did you think of Brienne's reaction to who her husband was? And Jaime's response? I would love to know what you think about these questions (and anything else you have to say) in a lovely comment or kudos.


	4. Their Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up the next morning, Brienne tries to get used to family life with Jaime...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is a bit of a beast, but I hope you enjoy. As ever, comments and kudos make me super happy!

That night, Brienne slept alone in her marital bed, listening to the sound of the waves through the open window.

 _This is a dream, a nightmare... a night terror,_ she told herself as she desperately tried to get to sleep. She wanted to return to that cold night in the Riverlands, with the Kingslayer chained to a tree, cutting and rude. Anything was better than the lion in Evenfall Hall, who was now acting like a mistreated housecat scratching at the door.

After she had kicked him out of her bed, the Kingslayer had skulked up and down the corridor outside her chamber - _their_ chamber - the sound of his feet scraping against the stone floor signalling his reluctance to leave. Part of her hoped he would just go away and leave her alone, but she could hear from the way he lingered at the door that there was no chance of that. The Kingslayer clearly believed that Brienne would change her mind and let him back in if only he was ardent enough and played the role of the devoted knight with passion and panache. However, his lady wife was resolute. The Kingslayer could stay outside like a stray tomcat yowling for his mate all night if he wanted; she was not letting him back in.

She fell asleep before he left, but when she woke up in the morning, she discovered he was gone. Relieved, she got out of bed and crossed to the window, leaving the dagger she had defended herself with the previous night amongst the pillows. She longed to have fresh air on her face, to blow away the cobwebs and return to something that was almost normal.

When the window was open, she gazed outside at the water. The seas were choppy, and she could not help but think of another woman who had looked to the sea for courage. As Aegon's dragons had flown over the Stormlands, Argella Durrandon had been the last Storm Queen, and had refused to surrender her kingdom to Targaryen fire. Barricading herself in Storm's End with her garrison, she had declared that every single one of her men would fight to the death. Unfortunately for Argella, her men had disagreed, and she had been attacked by her own soldiers, stripped, and taken to Aegon's bastard brother naked and in chains, a gift to show their good faith. The story then told how Orys Baratheon helped Argella to her feet, wrapped her in his own cloak, and treated her kindly, before marrying her in a sept not long after. Yet Brienne could not help but be unnerved by that tale. While it spoke of marriage and romance, underneath was domination, sexual violence, and fear. Perhaps that was what had happened between her and her own husband. On arriving at King's Landing with the Kingslayer in chains, had Lord Tywin Lannister turned Brienne into another Argella Durrandon? A slave; but instead of shackles, wearing a veil.

Feeling quite sick to her stomach at that thought, Brienne hurriedly washed and dressed, lest her lord husband return demanding his rights. She changed into the most physically unappealing clothes she could find - an old brown set of breeches, shirt, and boots - before putting on her best scowl. Seeing as she could not run him through with her sword, an ugly outfit and an off-putting expression were her best weapons. Once she was ready, she headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast, hoping he had already gone off to complete the day's chores.

She was to be disappointed.

"Wench!" the Kingslayer called, the second she walked through the door. As the eyes of all her people were on her, Brienne tried to act as normally as she possibly could. Standing up to her full height, she gave him a tight smile as she took her seat in the Evenstar's chair, him seated to her right. Despite the fact the high table was filled with their children, already excitedly squabbling over their breakfast, the Kingslayer paid little attention to them as his eyes were only for his lady wife.

Shuffling closer to her than was strictly necessary, he smiled at her tentatively. "Good morning, wench."

"Good morning," she said stiffly. In an attempt to avoid looking at him, she gazed down at the plate in front of her, only to discover it was already piled with food. Eggs of two types, buttered bread, fried tomatoes, mushrooms, and creamy potatoes had been carefully placed on her plate, along with the cutlery.

"I got your breakfast for you," said the Kingslayer, resting his hand on hers on the arm of the Evenstar's chair. "I asked cook for the eggs sunny side up because I know you like them, and that the tomatoes be fried for a little longer than usual. You did not seem yourself last night, so I thought this might cheer you up."

Although he demonstrated an intimate knowledge of her breakfast preferences, Brienne narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "Why? I can get my own food."

"Can't I do nice things for my wife?" he said, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Brienne froze in shock - everyone in the hall could see them - but the Kingslayer did not seem to mind, as he laced their fingers together and continued to talk to her in a way so close that it was burningly intimate. "I know you were angry with me last night and I just wanted to make sure everything is alright between us, and surely food is the best way to my wench's heart."

Brienne did not really know what to say. Not only had the Kingslayer brought her the most perfect breakfast, but he was also still calling her _my wench_ as if it was an endearment equal to sweetling or my love or dear heart. Given every vile sin she had heard him pour out to Lady Catelyn, she thought this must be a hideous joke, aimed at making her a laughingstock in front of her people. Consequently, she pulled her hand out of his grasp and picked up her knife. His smile faltered.

"Brienne? What is the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Obviously _something_ is the matter, because you are behaving as if I killed your favourite hunting hound. I promise you that Florian is fine."

Although the Kingslayer clearly thought a dark joke would charm her, Brienne scowled.

"Please stop."

"Stop what?"

"Sitting so close," she said, unable to put any other words to her discomfort. It instantly made him edge back. "Everyone is watching."

Narrowing his eyes, the Kingslayer looked around the room confusedly. His eyes flitted over all the different groups gathered around them - the servants, the children, the squires - before he turned back to Brienne, still bemused. "So?" he said, his tone nonchalant, even though he made no attempt to regain their former nearness. "We are husband and wife. Surely we can be close?"

"Not in public!"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "And going by last night, not in private either."

Brienne shot him a look - angry and disgusted - before picking up her cutlery and turning to her food. She stabbed into the egg a little too violently, her cheeks burning hot, as she watched the yolk dribble out onto the plate. Given her journey with the Kingslayer, Brienne was used to his teasing, but this was somehow different. Consequently, she decided the best thing to do was ignore him.

It did not last long.

"What?" she snapped, unable to deal with his slightly pleading expression he was pulling next to her.

The Kingslayer chewed at his bottom lip with something that approached anxiety. "My food hasn't been cut up," he said quietly, so low that the people around them could not hear. "And you... you normally cut it up for me."

Brienne looked at him confusedly for a moment, until a flash of gold in the corner of her eye reminded her that this version of the Kingslayer only had one hand. Feeling a stab of pity for him, Brienne reached across to his plate and began to cut up his food, taking extra care to do it in bitesize pieces.

"Thanks wench," he said, quiet enough that she had to get a little closer to hear him. "It is just like Harrenhal all over again."

Although she had no idea what he was talking about, the Kingslayer had a glint in his eye that told her of events she had no recollection of, that he seemingly treasured. In an attempt to suppress the fear surrounding what he could be thinking of, Brienne focussed on his food, and tried not to bristle when he leant in close to her. It was a nearness that spoke of true intimacy, after all.

Due to the fact the thought of him truly knowing her scared her to the centre of her soul, Brienne only ate half of her breakfast before fleeing the hall. She did not know what to do. As Evenstar, she surely had duties, but she could not quite work out what they would be given this unfamiliar landscape. Then there were the children; she was sure they had tutors to occupy their day and they would not necessarily need her, but the thought of any of them wanting their mother and her being useless, pathetic, and wrong in return made her feel even more of a failure than she usually did.

With nothing but her anxieties to attend to, Brienne decided the best thing to do was make a repeat of the day before and journey up into the hills. Perhaps she would get some clarity there. However, she soon realised this would prove difficult when, on reaching the courtyard, her escape was forestalled.

"Lady Brienne!" came a voice.

Looking up from her determined march across the castle, Brienne noticed it was the dark-haired man with the noose mark around his neck she had spotted sparring the day before. Podrick, was it? As yesterday, he was accompanied by a second man - Josmyn - and the two of them were holding wooden training swords. She wondered if they ever did anything else but train.

Brienne ground to a halt before them. "How can I help you, ser?"

"Podrick thinks he can beat you in a spar, my lady," grinned Josmyn. For some reason, that earned him a shove. "What? That's what you just said!"

The other man went a bright red, like ripe fruit. "That's what _you_ said, Jos... not me!"

As Josmyn and Podrick descended into squabbling, Brienne made to go, but found she instantly regretted letting herself be distracted as the Kingslayer padded up behind Brienne, clearly having abandoned his breakfast to follow her. Every muscle in her body tensed at his approach. Her fear only worsened when she turned to solid stone as he rested his hand on the small of her back, in a gesture he may have interpreted as comforting. It instantly made her hackles raise, like a dog backed into a corner with no means of escape, and she wanted to bare her teeth.

"My love," said the Kingslayer to Brienne, before turning to Josmyn and Podrick. "Are they troubling you?"

Brienne was too busy worrying about the exact purpose of the Kingslayer's hand on her back to answer his question, so Josmyn was forced to reply for her. "Of course not, Ser Jaime. It's just that Podrick here is claiming that he could have the best of the Evenstar, weren't you Pod?"

"I... I..." stammered Podrick, in that moment more boy than man.

Brienne almost laughed. Even as she dashed across the courtyard, she had noticed Podrick's flaws in combat; a weak ankle that could be exploited by an observant foe, a tendency towards hesitancy, and underpowered left-handed swing. Brienne knew she could take him, even when she was verging on fat in her pregnancy.

"Perhaps you could," smiled the Kingslayer, taking on a taunting expression. "The wench is normally a pillar of strength, but you might finally be able to conquer that mountain now she is with child."

All three men laughed at his joke, while the Kingslayer's hand stayed immovably on Brienne's back. They were not the first men to laugh at her. Hyle Hunt, Mark Mullendore, Edmund Ambrose, and Ben Bushy had all laughed at her too when she was back at King Renly's camp at Highgarden. They had thought she was a freak in mail and had made a bet on who could take her maidenhead, all to make her feel small and out of place. It had therefore been a sweet pleasure to defeat Edmund, Ben, and Mark at Bitterbridge shortly after, but not as brilliant as when she had cut down Ronnet Connington in the melee. Her former betrothed had sworn curses and complained at her victory, but Brienne did not care, as she had never felt more alive than when she kicked him into the dirt. Her triumph was such that she was determined that no man would ever laugh at her again.

Yet here were three more men... _guffawing_ at her.

In response to their chortles, Brienne gave the Kingslayer a quick shove, making him drop his hand from her back, before rounding on Podrick, whose face was still alight with laughter.

"If I so pleased, I could gut you from throat to groin with your own training sword, _boy,_ don't doubt me for a moment," she said, squaring up to the young knight in his surcoat of gold coins. Just because he had the trappings of knighthood, it did not mean he truly had the skill. As Podrick visibly wilted in front of her, Brienne turned to Josmyn who already looked a little afraid. "And arrogant men fall twice as hard as cowards, I would have you know. I saw it for myself at the Melee at Bitterbridge which _I won."_

Josmyn's face went red in an instant. "My lady," he began. "I..."

A quick, cold glare shut him up at once. That only left the Kingslayer.

"And as for you," she growled, with every scrap of loathing for him she had in her heart, "I don't know why you are laughing, as I do not know _any_ famous swordsmen who have lost their sword hand. If we were to duel, I would not even bother disarming you, because you are no physical threat."

Having verbally disembowelled all three men, Brienne shoved her way past Podrick - who seemed to be too busy gazing at his metaphorical entrails to respond - and charged towards the gatehouse. If she could not show them her strength in a melee, she would at least give them a taste of the sharpness of her tongue.

 _Why do they always laugh at me wherever I go?_ she thought madly as she made her way into the never-ending green beyond the castle. _Why do I never earn respect, whatever I do?_

If Brienne was hoping to have some peaceful moment with the hills, she was to be disappointed. She had barely been walking for a few minutes when she heard someone clattering up behind her, but she only realised it was the Kingslayer when he pulled her to a halt.

"Brienne, where are you going?"

"For a walk," she groused, trying to march forward even though the Kingslayer still had hold of her arm. After a few moments of tussling, she turned to face him, her cheeks growing red with anger and exertion.

"Let go of me!" she hissed, trying to wriggle free.

"No, I won't!" he insisted, keeping his hold firm. His eyes were bright and reproachful. "Not when you just spoke to Podrick and Josmyn like that!"

She snorted derisively, deciding that settling into her anger was safer than contemplating contrition. "Why do you care? Have I upset your little friends? Have I upset _you_?"

"I don't care if you upset me, wench," he said, pulling her closer to him so he could speak quietly. Her skin prickled as he did so. "The gods know we fight just as much as we fuck, and that your pregnancies can be hard on you, so I don't begrudge you getting angry or frustrated about the predicament _I_ put you in, but I _do_ struggle when you forget your kindness. I hate to see you be so cruel to one of your oldest friends, especially when he thinks the sun rises and sets with you."

That statement barely made any sense.

"My oldest friend?" she spluttered, thinking back to the young man in the courtyard who she would not have been able to pick out of a crowd the day before. "But I don't even..."

"Don't play the idiot," said the Kingslayer scathingly. "Podrick is like a son to you. Seven hells, he traipsed around the Riverlands in the mud and the cold with you because he was so devoted to you, and we barely would have got away from Stoneheart if it wasn't for him. He took a bloody noose for you, too!"

Brienne blinked rapidly as this new information washed over her. Although she had no idea who _Stoneheart_ was, there was an edge of fear in the Kingslayer's voice that told her whoever he was, he was _bad._

"He doesn't deserve to be treated like that," the Kingslayer continued, rubbing at her wrist with his thumb. At his touch - which Brienne likened to a small boy petting a beloved kitten - the tension slowly dissipated from her body. It was joined by her anger. She thought it was a strange gesture given how rude she had been to him. "He is your squire, not your punching bag."

Given that guilt was building in Brienne's belly, she had just been on the brink of offering up apologies when she tripped over the word _squire._ "Squire?" she balked, "but women don't have squires..."

Her bafflement caused the Kingslayer to smile, all sunlight and stardust. "There are no women like you, Brienne, only you."

For the first time since the fight in the courtyard, Brienne had completely run out of words, so she could only answer him with a mulish silence. The Kingslayer took her silence as an opportunity. Stepping forward so they were pressed together, he made sure they were chest to chest. Brienne lit up like a candle at once; she was not used to having men, let alone _attractive_ men, this close. As she finished her transformation into a stone statue at his touch, the Kingslayer let go of her wrist in order to thread his fingers through her hair, as if her straw blond mop was made of spun-gold.

"Ever since I came back from Braavos, you've not seemed yourself. Is everything alright, my love?"

 _How can I tell him?_ she thought. _How can I tell him when he is this close to me and his hands are covered in blood?_

"I... I... I..."

"And you _can_ tell me, you know," he said gently, as if reading her mind, his hand dropping to her neck and resting on the ugly scar she knew was there. "If you're confused or feeling unwell, I will get our Maester to see to you at once. If you need to talk about something, you know I'm here for you... _always_. If you just need someone to hold you, I can do that too. I am known for being very helpful in that regard." His tone was a strange mix of a tease and affection. "And if you just want me to make love to you until you've forgotten what you are upset about... well, I happen to think that is the best medicine of all."

She did not realise how close she and the Kingslayer were until he tilted his head and leant into kiss her, his breath warm against her lips. It was too much. Overcome by a sudden well of fear, and the thought of _danger, danger, danger,_ Brienne pulled back, stumbling slightly as did so. The Kingslayer's green eyes went wide in shock.

"I just need to be alone," she said, tripping as she tried to get away from him. "We'll talk properly later... I'll talk to Podrick later..."

"Wench..." began the Kingslayer warningly.

" _Later_ ," she emphasised, turning and jogging away from him. "I promise we will talk later."

Although he looked hurt and a little disappointed, Brienne fled before he had the time to turn his objections into action.

* * *

Later turned out to be a very long time indeed.

Twisted up in a ball of guilt and confusion, Brienne once again spent her day in the hills. Up amongst the clouds and the trees, she found herself thinking not of the people she had left back at Evenfall Hall, but of Renly Baratheon. Although it had been over twenty years from the minute she found herself in, to Brienne his death was still a recent sting. Every moment she allowed herself to be distracted, she would see the clear blue of his eyes as his spirit left them and feel the heavy, dead weight of him in her arms. It pushed her to tears.

When Brienne had been at Renly's court, she had long dreamed her king would kiss her. In a whirl of colour and pageantry, Renly would have plucked her out of a crowd and recognised her true worth, that she and him were characters in a song that was yet to be sung. Such hope. Now her king was dead, and it was the Kingslayer who offered to kiss her, love her, and take her to bed; the villain of the piece, the monster with a blood-stained sword. In the time she could not remember, Brienne had obviously lain with him and born him children in a plot twist she would never have seen coming. If she enjoyed his kisses, maybe she had been corrupted by his sweet sighs and good looks. Perhaps she had been seduced by him, and was not part of a chivalric romance with King Renly, but a morality tale that warned never to trust a handsome devil.

Maybe that made her bad too.

A little scared of what awaited her back in her father's castle, Brienne stayed out in wilderness as the sun climbed to its apex and then began its slow descent towards the horizon. Although she knew she had duties with her children and her husband, they were oaths she had not yet made and vows she had not yet sworn, so stayed away in a bid not to keep them. It meant that, when Brienne returned to Evenfall Hall, it was already dark. Much to her consternation, Josmyn and Podrick had finally stopped sparring in the courtyard, so she could not seek them out and apologise.

 _That must wait until tomorrow,_ she thought regretfully.

With no sign of her squire and his friend, Brienne headed into the Hall, determined to go to bed. However, she found herself changing her mind when she heard music coming from her father's solar. Someone was singing. It was a man's voice - untrained but tuneful - but it was only when she poked her head around the door that she realised it was the Kingslayer.

_"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,_

_The Dornishman's taken my life,_

_But what does it matter, for all men must die,_

_And I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!"_

He was sitting on a chair by the fire, singing to his children who were gathered around him, listening intently. Pia was there too, dandling Cerissa on her knee. Like the children, she was gazing at the Kingslayer, but there was a warmth in her eyes that was not caused by a love of good stories or the firelight.

Brienne felt strangely jealous.

When the song finished, the crowd broke into rapturous applause.

"Oh, bravo!" cried Pia, clapping enthusiastically.

Genna had happy tears in her eyes. "Oh Papa, that song is so sad!"

"I liked the fighting!" said Gerion. "Swords always make songs better!"

Argella (or was it Alysanne?) rolled her eyes. "You are such a _boy."_

The Kingslayer smiled at his children, before turning his attention to Pia. As they exchanged a glance, Brienne instantly spotted the resultant frisson of familiarity, of years of knowing one another, of trust. Her stomach roiled. Feeling the need to break up this happy picture, she pushed the door open and as she did so, she felt as if her insides had gone the colour of pitch.

"Wench," said the Kingslayer the moment she entered the room. Turning away from Pia, he grinned at her warmly. "You are back."

"I am," Brienne replied, not meeting his gaze as she went and sat down in the only free chair. She could not help but sit stiffly.

"Papa is singing to us," Joanna piped up, flicking her long blonde braid over her shoulder. "You've missed _The Dornishman's Wife, The Maids of Summer,_ and _The King without Courage,_ and he's just about to tell us a story."

The Kingslayer groaned dramatically in faux reluctance. "Oh, do I have to?"

"YES!" chorused the children as one.

"Papa, _please_ tell us a story!" begged Alysanne (or was it Argella?) her eyes bright.

"Yes!" shrieked Gerion, coming to sit by his sister in a heap of knobbly knees and growing teeth. "We've missed your stories, Papa! Tell us a good one."

"You have always told good stories, m'lord," said Pia from the corner. The way she said _m'lord_ was pointed and intimate, almost on par with _wench._ As the servant gazed at her lord, Brienne had to admit Pia looked positively lovely in the firelight. Perhaps she was a character in this morality play too, the beautiful foil to Brienne's duped fool.

 _How could he really love me?_ Brienne wondered as she watched another heated glance fly between Pia and the Kingslayer. _When he can have her?_

At Pia's interjection, there was a hoot of agreement from the children, who collectively swivelled away from the light of the fire to face their father. It was quite incongruous to see such a look on the Kingslayer's face - happy, content, and warm - as he smiled at his children.

"Well, which story would you like?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. Brienne could not help but notice the way the collar of his shirt fell open, his gold chest hair highlighted in the firelight. Trying to suppress the heat in her cheeks, Brienne looked down at her hands - freckled and calloused - as the inordinately beautiful Kingslayer became inundated with requests.

"Florian the Fool, tilting at Windmills!" cried Selwyn excitedly, hugging his knees to his chest.

Alysanne pulled a disgusted face. "There's no point having Florian without Jonquil! Give us Maidenpool!"

"No!" said Podrick. "I want to learn about Aegon's Conquest!"

"YES!" agreed Gerion a _little_ too loudly. "DRAGONS!"

At that exclamation, the children burst out into a raucous squabble over the best story. Brienne turned to the Kingslayer, half expecting him to reprimand his children, or shout at them for being obnoxious and annoying. Instead, he only chuckled warmly and gazed at them affectionately, as if he was happy with being the father to this small mob that was half her and half him. Across the babble, the Kingslayer shot Brienne a knowing look, before taking charge of the situation once more.

"How about we let _Genna_ pick?" he declared, gesturing towards his quietest, eldest daughter who was sat in the corner picking at her nails. "She never gets to choose."

As one, everyone turned to Genna, the awkward looking eldest daughter. Her eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed a violent red that Brienne had often seen on her own face. Genna bit her bottom lip.

"I don't know what to pick," she mumbled.

"Your favourite," said the Kingslayer.

Everyone waited for Genna's answer as she screwed up her face and thought. The Kingslayer smiled at her encouragingly, and Brienne could not help but think that her own father would have interrupted his daughter with a laugh and picked something for her at this stage. In contrast, the Kingslayer was patient, right up to the point when Genna was able to mumble her preference.

"Can I have _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ , please?"

Although the other children all hollered in agreement and the Kingslayer laughed with amusement, Brienne furrowed her brow. _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ was a song, not a story.

She was about to voice that concern, when the Kingslayer turned to her. "Wench, why don't you tell this story?"

"I can't," replied Brienne bemused. "I am no singer."

The children started giggling, as Argella piped up to tell her why she was wrong. "Not the _song,_ Mama, the story! You know, your special story!"

"I... I... I..." stammered Brienne, having no idea what they were talking about.

Luckily, the Kingslayer swooped in to save her blushes, armed with a story that even the romantic Brienne had never heard before.

"Once, there was a knight and his lady who journeyed through the woods together," he began, in a drawn out voice that the set the scene spectacularly. The children hushed in anticipation. "Although they had been sent on a noble quest together by the Wolf Queen, they struggled very mightily to get along, and the lady was very rude to the knight."

"I am sure the knight was also rude to the lady," interrupted one of the blond twins.

The Kingslayer smiled at her, catlike. "Why would you say that?"

"Because when Mama tells the story, that is always what happens!" smirked the other twin, which caused everyone to laugh.

The Kingslayer looked into Brienne's eyes, all knowing affection, as he continued his story. "Well... maybe the knight was not very polite to the lady either, but that hardly mattered because they were soon in very... big... trouble."

"What happened?" asked Gerion, eyes wide in fear.

"They were captured by the Goat of Qohor, with a greasy goatee extending from his chin, eyes so black they were darker than the Seven Hells, and a lisp so obvious it was impossible not to laugh."

While several of the children looked horrified by this vision of evil, Argella made a snorting sound. "Why would you give the villain a stupid lisp, Papa? It makes him funny, not scary."

"Everyone can be scary in the right situation."

"Even you, Papa?" asked Catelyn, her eyes wide.

"Even me," the Kingslayer replied.

Although he did not elaborate on the ways in which he could be fearsome, Brienne could not help wonder if the Kingslayer's children knew of his past, of how he cut the Mad King's throat and sired three bastards on his sister. She thought not, given the way even the most innocent of the children gazed up at him in adoration.

 _How sad that I am complicit in lying to my children about their father's nature,_ she thought. _How awful._

"The Goat of Qohor was amusing, yes, but he had a terrible power," said the Kingslayer in a dramatic whisper, causing another hush to descend across the group. "He had an army of goat men whom he called his brave companions, who he used to cause fear and terror amongst the smallfolk, and even in the hearts of the knight and his fair lady once he had them in his grasp."

"What did he do?" asked Gerion, hugging his knees.

"He tried to hurt the fair lady, but she was saved by the fact her father lived on top of a huge sapphire mine, larger than a mountain, so she was able to pay her way out of danger. The knight was not so lucky, however, as the Goat got one of his men to cut his hand off in punishment."

Podrick furrowed his brow, clearly unhappy with this description. "In punishment for what?"

"The Goat was jealous because the knight was so handsome," preened the Kingslayer, flicking his mane of hair over his shoulder. "It pained him to the depths of his blackened soul that while the knight had a mane of sunshine hair, he could only grow a pathetic little goatee."

Argella snorted for a second time. "Mama says something quite different when she tells this story! She says the knight lost his hand because he was the most insufferable man in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Well, your mother is not very good at storytelling, we all know this," said the Kingslayer as if this was an accepted fact.

Brienne balked. "I am a very good storytelling actually--"

"Let's get back to the issue at hand," said the Kingslayer loudly, waving his hand, encouraging his children to listen once more. Brienne looked at him sharply and found he would not meet her eye. Perhaps he did not want to rouse a sleeping dragon.

"The evil Goat Man..."

"Goat of Qohor," corrected Selwyn.

"Evil Goat of Qohor," repeated the Kingslayer, "had cut off the good knight's right hand. Without his sword hand he could not fight, and he wished he would die because there was no use for a knight like him in all the world."

As her father was clearly taking too long to tell the story, Catelyn piped up. "Papa! Tell us about the bear!"

"I will, sweetling," said the Kingslayer, "but first there is the more important part of the story." He shot a glance at Brienne, clearly expecting her to respond. She just stared back at him blankly not really sure what he wanted her to do. Laugh? Smile? Nod in agreement?

Mildly surprised at her lack of response, the Kingslayer continued. "When the handsome knight was injured, cold, and alone, the lady who had once been his rival became his ally and then his friend. They had no one but each other to guard their backs but each other, and no one to live or die for but each other. As he grew weak from infection, she kept him alive by washing his hair, cleaning his breeches, and wiping away his vomit when he was sick."

"Urrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhh!" cried Argella and Alysanne in unison.

"Papa!" said Argella (or was it Alysanne?), "that is gross!"

Her sister nodded in agreement. "Yeah! How can you expect us to believe they will fall in love if she is wiping up his sick?"

The Kingslayer went to reply, but Genna cut across him from the corner of the room. "Aly, you've got to understand that love is not how it is in the songs. It is not about kisses and sighs, but trust and respect. Only superficial people think otherwise."

Alysanne furrowed her brow at her sister. "What does superficial mean?"

"Someone you are going to kill in honour of the gods," supplied Argella.

"No Gella," interjected Genna. "That's _sacrificial._ Someone who is superficial is shallow, and that means..."

"Can we get back to the story now!" whined Joanna, pretending to fall asleep on Selwyn's shoulder.

The Kingslayer nodded firmly, as if his little daughter was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and he one of the black brothers, sworn to obey. "While I will get on with the story, I do think it is important to say that Genna is right, and it is important to foster trust and respect with the person you love, and that you do not just..."

"PAPA," said Argella or Alysanne with an exaggerated eyeroll, "can you listen to Jo and get on with the story? I don't care about kissing and stuff!"

While the Kingslayer went to acquiesce to the little tyrant's demand, Brienne's mouth drew into an irritated line. Selwyn Tarth would _never_ have sat with his only daughter and told her stories of an evening, but if he had, Brienne would have clung onto every word. That Argella or Alysanne was treating her father so dismissively therefore annoyed their mother, even if he was the Kingslayer, because it felt so wrong to disregard something she would have treasured as a girl so flippantly.

"Do not talk to your father like that," she said firmly. "He is being good enough to tell you a story, so you would do well to listen _politely."_

Argella and Alysanne both had the good grace to look ashamed.

"Sorry Mama," said Argella or Alysanne.

Her sister nodded. "I'm sorry too."

"That's quite alright," said the Kingslayer, with a smile so soft and gentle it seemed to belie his ferocious reputation. It certainly seemed to contradict everything Brienne knew of him from that long ago shadowed woodland, especially when he turned his smile on her.

It was luminescent.

"Now, back to the story... where was I?"

"The vomit," supplied Selwyn.

"Ah yes, the vomit," mused the Kingslayer, as if this was key point of the story. "The lady cleaned her valiant knight's beard and brushed his golden hair. She kept him close when they were tied together on horseback, her heart beating against his chest, and gave him a reason to live when the dark nights were full of nothing but pain and terror. When they finally arrived at the castle of their captor's employer - the grey-eyed wight - she refused to be parted from him, even when he needed to bathe. That proved to be a good thing, as she let him unburden himself to her and held him when he fainted from a fever in the bath. Her touch was strong, but gentle. I think she loved him even then, but perhaps did not yet know it."

As the children began to pipe up with questions - _Was it a big bath? Was the lady in the bath with the knight to catch him? Was the employer actually a wight or did he just look like a wight?_ \- the Kingslayer looked at Brienne, and this time she noticed that he expected her to see something in his gaze other than wry amusement. Perhaps it was familiarity or fondness, or the comfort of knowing one another so intimately that there was some joke in his story that only she could spot.

Brienne looked away, because she could see nothing but emerald green.

"Did he love her?" asked Genna, her voice soft.

"Of course," replied the Kingslayer, "but he was still blind to it, especially when the wight offered to let the knight return to home while keeping his lady prisoner. In spite of knowing that to abandon her would mean her certain death, the knight chose to leave her because he missed his old life and could not entertain the thought that he had become a different person in her light."

Catelyn looked rather unimpressed at that poetic dumping. "That was rude of him."

"I think he won his lady's favour back though," said the Kingslayer, once more gazing at Brienne warmly, "because once he had left her, the knight dreamt of her."

If Brienne closed her eyes, she could almost see it. She was sure the knight's dream of his beloved would be similar to the many she had had of Renly. The light would be dappled as it caressed his skin, and her heart would be full of incredible despair as she realised that he was dead and gone, but beautiful and eternally wondrous.

The way the Kingslayer told it, however, was quite different.

"He dreamt that he was in a great cave buried deep down beneath the earth and she was beside him, naked as her nameday, a glowing sword in her hand. It was as blue and bright as the sky on a summer's day, as the sea around Tarth, as your mother's eyes, and it guided him ever upwards, towards something better, towards something..."

"I think this is getting a little poetic for the children, m'lord," interjected Pia, stopping the Kingslayer mid-dramatic gesticulation. "Even I want to hear about the bear now."

"I agree!" said Selwyn.

"So do I," added Brienne, speaking for the first time since he started the story. She had not taken the Kingslayer as a romantic, so such sweet statements sounded barbed coming from his mouth.

At his wife's intervention, the Kingslayer looked surprised. Dropping his arms from his dramatic pose, he gave her a cheeky smile. "Alright, wench. I know you want to hear how the bear licked honey from the maiden's hair, but I promise that is for later."

There was a beat of silence in which Brienne stared at her husband uncomprehendingly, and Pia looked as if he had physically injured her.

"I don't get it," said Gerion loudly. "Was that a joke?"

"If it was, it was not one for you!" declared Argella or Alysanne. "Sometimes Mama and Papa have jokes between them that we are not old enough to understand."

There was something in the Kingslayer's expression - teasing and tempting - that made Brienne think there was indeed some hidden adult joke in there just for her - which had simultaneously wounded Pia - that he only doubled down by waggling his eyebrows at her. As equally clueless as the small children, she tried to quell her blush and get everything back in order.

"The bear _,_ ser," she chided him. "The _bear_."

He let out a bark of throaty laughter. "Oh yes, the _bear._ Now, where was I? Ah yes, the knight had a dream about the lady in which they found themselves in the darkness below the ground. There were some other people in that dream too, but they were not important as the lady was his only light against the shadows. When he woke up, he realised that he could not leave without her and demanded his retinue turn around and return to the castle. However, instead of resting in a feather bed, he found her in a terrible dilemma..."

"THE BEAR!!!" shouted Gerion and Catelyn in unison, both struggling to say seated on the floor in their excitement.

The Kingslayer chuckled. "Indeed! A bear it was, a bear! All black and brown and covered in hair! The Evil Goat of Qohor had thrown her into a bear pit, dressed in a pink gown with naught to defend herself with but a wooden sword."

Joanna gasped in horror, Genna went pale, and Podrick put his hands over his mouth.

"Did he eat her?" asked Gerion, with a _little_ too much enthusiasm.

"No, he did not eat her," said the Kingslayer, all summer warmth and fatherly affection, "because the brave knight was there to save her."

Selwyn bit his lip. "Did he have a sword?"

"He did not need his sword. He only needed a knight's courage, bravery... and a decent plan. While the Goat thought he could use knights and their ladies as toys, the knight knew better. The knight's retinue would not sit by and allow him to be killed by a bear, so he leapt into the pit and put himself between the bear and the maiden, using his own body as a shield. When his entourage saw his predicament, they had no choice but to use their bows and arrows to subdue the beast, and the knight used this opportunity to engineer the maiden's escape. Once they were saved from the monster, the lady thanked him with a thousand kisses, before swooning in his arms."

Joanna raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Mama does not tell us the story ended that way. She says that the lady just gave the knight a polite thank you."

"And what would your mother know about it?" the Kingslayer replied, quip as a whip.

"Because she is the maiden," replied Joanna, "and you are the knight."

It felt as if Brienne had just been slammed into a wall. She was about to object - to claim it was not true, and the Kingslayer had done no such thing - when Gerion started chanting.

"Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime! Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime!"

Laughing and giggling, the other children joined in with chanting. An excited Catelyn leapt onto the Kingslayer's lap and, although he made a winded _oof_ sound at the impact, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. The other children all surged forward as well. Gerion even clambered into Brienne's lap without asking her permission. Just like his sister, he snuggled into Brienne like a small woodland creature burrowing down for winter. Instinctually, she wrapped her arms around him. Gerion seemed to like that, even though she was worried that she was holding him too tightly, that she was being his mother all wrong. She was only distracted from her train of thoughts when Ser Jaime cut across the moment, smiling.

"And after that, it was all fate," he said dramatically, as he stroked Catelyn's hair with his good hand. "Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime were married in a godswood with the eyes of all the North on them, and the singers sung songs of them. The Bear and the Maiden Fair!"

The Kingslayer once more tried to catch Brienne's eye, but she found she could not look at him. This silly story could not be true, could it? Indeed, it seemed to be something an over-indulgent father would tell his children, not an accurate retelling of events.

Pia evidently agreed.

"M'lord, m'lady, I think I am going to take Lady Cerissa to bed," she said, sadness in her eyes. "She is getting sleepy."

The Kingslayer nodded, but made no effort to move. "Good idea, Pia. Thank you for staying."

"Of course, m'lord."

Pia gave him one last burning look before turning to leave the room, and Brienne almost wanted to urge her husband to follow her. If Pia was his mistress - as seemed evident by the way she looked at her master - Brienne could find some small comfort in that. It would mean that she had not married him for love, but for duty, circumstance, or fear. Then this story could once again be a romance. Brienne would not be a poor, stupid woman duped by a bad man's handsome face, but a lady separated from her true love by fate and death.

Yet the Kingslayer did not follow Pia but sat resolutely in his seat, gazing at his wife. There was such love in his eyes it made Brienne quite fearful of what the truth actually was.

Overcome by his seemingly extraordinary feelings, Brienne spent the rest of the evening in a frozen daze as the children laughed, chatted, sang songs, and told stories. The whole time, the Kingslayer's - or should she say _Ser Jaime's_ \- eyes were alight in a way she had never seen them before. Back at Riverrun and in the Riverlands, he had always been cold and sneering, and she had always been aware that if she gave him an inch, he would take a mile. The man in front of her, however, seemed content to luxuriate in the love of his children. Remembering the wretch he had been, this smiling affectionate kitten seemed a million miles away from the man she once knew, and it made her feel very uneasy. Ser Jaime and the Kingslayer were barely the same, so it felt wrong to call one the name of the other.

After Ser Jaime's voice had gone hoarse with so much talk and the moon hung low in the sky, he announced it was time for bed.

"Right, all of you! To bed!"

"Nooooooo!" cried Argella and Alysanne in unison, as Selwyn grumpily folded his arms.

"I'm nearly a man grown now, Papa!" he insisted, even though his high voice suggested otherwise. "I promise I am."

"I am sure you are," Ser Jaime said, without a drop of sarcasm, "but all big strong knights need their sleep, and so do little knights." He gazed down at Catelyn curled up in his lap, who was already lost to dreams. "So, to bed! All of you!"

Although there was grumpiness and gripes from several of the children, they eventually all agreed to comply with their father's order, especially when Ser Jaime scooped little Cat up in his arms and headed towards the door. At the commotion, Gerion had woken up, but still sleepily grabbed for his mother's hand. Brienne could do nothing but play at being a mother, squeezing his fingers and leading him out of the room behind Ser Jaime. It soon became really clear that Gerion was sleepy, so Brienne copied Ser Jaime and Catelyn by picking her son up in her arms. He nuzzled against her and she held on tight in response.

She had never had someone so little and vulnerable wanting comfort from _her_ before.

Stunned at Gerion's closeness and the unlimited tenderness Ser Jaime was showing his - _their_ \- children, Brienne followed the crowd silently to the rooms on the upper floor. When she was a child, they had been used for different things - storage and meeting rooms and parlours - but now they had been converted into bedrooms for Brienne and Jaime's children. They first went into the younger children's room, and Ser Jaime laid Catelyn down on her bed with the utmost care. Once she was settled, he brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes and placed gentle kiss on her forehead. As Brienne continued to hold Gerion, dumbstruck, unsure of what to do, Ser Jaime went around instructing the other children into bed. Once Argella, Alysanne, and Podrick were all tucked up, Ser Jaime turned to his wife.

"Wench, are you planning on letting Gerion sleep in your arms all night?"

"Oh, erm... no, of course not..."

Copying what Ser Jaime had done, Brienne went over to the last empty bed and placed Gerion on top of it, before pulling a blanket over him and gently patting his head. She felt too self-conscious to kiss him, so she drew back. Luckily, her embarrassed blush was obscured when Ser Jaime blew out the candle.

"Goodnight children," said Ser Jaime in a hush.

"Goodnight Papa!" they chorused back.

At that, Ser Jaime reached out and took Brienne's hand, leading her from the room. Part of her wanted to pull away, but she found she could not at the memory of the way he had treated her children as his precious darlings, to be protected and loved. He used the same tone when he peeped his head around Joanna and Genna's room, and again at the door to Selwyn's chamber.

 _How can this man be the Kingslayer?_ Brienne asked herself, struggling to put the pieces together. _How can he be the man I thought I knew?_

Once they had said goodnight to all the children, Ser Jaime locked his fingers more tightly with hers and squeezed her hand, using their physical connection to direct her towards their chamber. Washed away by a tumult of feelings, Brienne did not object.

"We are going to have to have an important conversation at some point," he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

Brienne furrowed her brow. "About what?" she asked, dreading a repeat of their discussion earlier in the day.

"I know you are already carrying our twelfth child," he said slowly, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile, "but do you think number thirteen is totally out of the question?"

"Number... number thirteen?" spluttered Brienne incredulously, her free hand jumping to her belly. She had never imagined she would have one child, let alone reach double digits!

At her incredulous expression, Ser Jaime gazed at her with a gold-spun grin that almost broke past her heart's impenetrable walls. "I know you said you did not want any more children, but you said that after Galladon and Genna too and we had another nine, so I thought you might be open to persuasion. The children we make together really are adorable, after all."

"I don't... I..."

Sensing her disquiet, Ser Jaime drew closer to murmur in her ear. "The servants have already confiscated Cerissa - I swear our babe still had your teat in her mouth when Pia pulled her off you - so I thought maybe you wanted another one to sleep on your chest at night, to snuggle up to. You know how much we enjoy putting them inside you."

Brienne gulped. Nobody had ever said something as daringly intimate to her before. Reeling, she went as red as a tomato as she pulled away, suddenly irritated.

"Stop teasing."

"I'm not teasing," he said with a smile. "I just want to have a serious conversation."

"About what?"

His grin grew larger. "When you'll next let me come inside you, wife."

It was too much. Back in the world of stories and songs, she had been momentarily close to finding some sort of solace in this strange new world she found herself in, with the children and Ser Jaime, but he had just ruined it all by reminding her of the truth of her broken body, only useful as a vessel for his seed. Pulling her hand out of his, Brienne turned away from him, her mouth a dissatisfied line.

"Wait," Ser Jaime began when Brienne tried to march away. He attempted to grab her hand with his gold one, but all she felt was ringing cold. "I was just teasing you, wench."

"Well maybe I don't want you teasing me about... about... _that."_

He pulled up beside her, even as she tried to flee, his expression suddenly quite intense. "I am sorry, it is just when I returned from Braavos, I was expecting you to be happy to see me and instead you..."

"I was tired," snapped Brienne. "I was not in the mood for you to just take what you want and leave me hurting."

Ser Jaime did a double take. "Leave you hurting? Brienne, it was _you_ that was waving a dagger around last night, not me."

"But it is _you_ that has the power over me, not the other way around," she countered. "You are a lord and I am a lady. I am meant to stay silent and obey you, and let you take whatever you want of me. You cannot deny that."

She expected some sharp rebuke about his rights and her responsibilities, but instead Ser Jaime grasped her wrist with tender fingers. As she turned to look at him, she noticed his green eyes were filled with a wounded hurt. It seemed so strange that she could injure his heart.

"And you know I would never abuse my power over you, don't you?"

"I..."

"Don't you, Brienne?" said Ser Jaime more forcefully, sensing her doubt. "We are a marriage of equals, you and I, and we always have been. Two hearts. Twin swords. _Equals_."

Given that he had drawn to a complete stop, Brienne had no choice but to join him. His touch was gentle, but there was also something imploring and demanding in his expression that made her worry his words belied his true sentiment.

"If you truly believe that, _show me,"_ she demanded, taking advantage of being on the front foot. "Demonstrate that you respect my wishes. Understand that I do not want you close; not last night nor tonight nor during the day. Then I will believe what you say."

Although Ser Jaime looked incredibly hurt by that statement, he nodded. "I know you have struggled in your previous pregnancies with closeness and tenderness while your body has been changing, so I will try to respect that, I will..."

"Don't _try_ ," she spat. "Do it. Respect me, if you honestly believe me your equal."

Even as she secured another nod of confirmation from him, Brienne could not help but think he would betray his word at the first opportunity. He was an oath breaker, after all. However, it seemed that Ser Jaime had already been thinking on how best to give her space as, when they returned to their chamber, Brienne discovered there was a pallet set up on the floor next to their marital bed.

"What's that?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"A pallet," replied Ser Jaime.

Brienne stared at it bemusedly. "Why have you had it brought in here? Surely you would be more comfortable in one of the other chambers?"

"Possibly," concurred Ser Jaime with a nod of the head, "but I would also then be parted from my wife, and as I told you that night on the Winterfell battlements, I never want that to happen again. So, as we have already been needlessly separated because of our deal with the Braavosi, and now you are not letting me into our bed for some unfathomable reason, a pallet on the floor it is."

Having no counter-move to that, Brienne went to the chest of drawers to retrieve her shift, before going to hide behind the patterned screen at the corner of the room to change. Ser Jaime let out a breath of disappointment as she did so, but Brienne stayed bunkered down in her bolt hole. She could hear the rustle of cloth that was indicating he was getting undressed, after all, and she did not know what she would do if she saw him disrobed again.

Trying to distract herself from the fact there was a naked Jaime Lannister behind the screen, Brienne set about asking him questions. "Why did you let Genna pick the story?"

"You know how shy she is," he said, as she heard the soft thud of the golden hand being put down on the table, "she just needs pulling out of her shell occasionally."

There was something missing from that explanation, so Brienne tried again. "Podrick is shy too, but you did not do the same for him. Why her?"

Ser Jaime let out a little chuckle. "You are not supposed to have favourite children, I know, but I cannot help it. I just do. Genna has always been mine because she is shy, soft, and sweet and has these big blue eyes that are wise beyond her years. She reminds me so much of you that how could I fail to adore her?"

That sounded preposterous, given that there was nothing adorable about Brienne of Tarth.

"She reminds you of me?" said Brienne dumbly.

"Yes," he said slowly, "just as Arthur reminds you of me. You always tell me that he is your favourite, because it is like having a little Lannister lion cub all of your own... that and he is your eldest, and there is always a bond between a mother and their eldest child."

When Brienne had her shift on, she stopped hiding behind the screen and came to look at her husband, who was also wearing his soft sleeping shirt. "You mean like Cersei and Joffrey? That kind of bond?"

A coldness settled in Ser Jaime's eyes.

"If you want to believe that, but I don't think my sister ever truly loved Joff... not in the way you love Arthur."

Without him saying anymore, Brienne knew she had ventured into dangerous territory, so she broke eye contact and moved over to the bed. It suddenly struck her that in this world she had no idea what had happened to Cersei Lannister, her husband's lover, but she did not necessarily want to ask. He spoke of her and their son in the past tense, after all. If Brienne knew the truth, perhaps this would once seem more a nightmare than a dream.

Not pressing her husband any further, Brienne went and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up around her. Reflecting her, Jaime blew out the candle by the bedside and shimmied into his pallet. She could not help but notice how uncomfortable he looked.

"Goodnight, my sweetling," said Ser Jaime, from his position on the floor.

She could not think how to respond, so settled on the simplest response; his name and title. "Goodnight, Ser Jaime."

He sighed. To her surprise, it sounded almost grateful.

She rolled over and tried to go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you probably noticed, this chapter was full of meta references to criticisms of the JB love and sketchy references to the book's endgame. I'm not really sure what happened in this version of book canon, so fill in the backstory however you like with the few details I've given you! King Bran, Queen Daenerys, the split of the Seven Kingdoms; your choice.
> 
> The song Jaime sings is obviously "The Dornishman's Wife" written by GRRM.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and please consider leaving comments or kudo!


	5. Their Kingdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When spending the day together, Brienne starts to understand that Jaime is not the man she once knew...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for coming back! Once again another beast of a chapter, but I hope you enjoy.
> 
> PS. I know nothing about mining. Sorry about that.

When she woke up in the morning, she found Ser Jaime was already up and about. Having already washed, he was half dressed, fumbling with the laces on his breeches. He looked half a god. Brienne felt awkward watching him - was she permitted to look on such beauty? - until he realised that she was awake and gave her a jaunty smile.

"Morning, Brienne."

"Morning Ser Jaime," she mumbled from under her blankets.

That she had used his name clearly made him happy, as his grin grew larger. "I am sorry to disturb you, wench, but you really will need to get up. We are due at the marble mines soon."

"Why?" she asked, a knot growing in her chest. She remembered how her father would take her down to meet the miners and the merchants when she was a child, and how she would hide behind him to avoid them seeing her. It was very unlikely she would be able to do the same with her husband now she was the Evenstar.

"We've got to meet the workers about the deal I confirmed with the Braavosi merchants across the Narrow Sea," he said, halting his fiddling with the ties on his breeches to talk to her. "As you and I agreed, I told the Sealord that we would lower import tariffs to the Braavosi in exchange that he exclusively uses Tarth marble for the extension to his palace. He was receptive to the idea, so we need to go and discuss with the overseer and the foreman of the mines the quantity of marble Tarth can produce this year. They are expecting both of us there, so it might be a good idea if you dress and come to breakfast with me."

Considering the previous evening had been revelation upon revelation, Brienne was still quite exhausted. The knowledge that Ser Jaime was her children's beloved Papa had shaken the very foundations of everything she believed. Surely the man she married would be a ruthless disciplinarian, to both her and the children they produced, not happily telling a story of bears and maidens fair to a happy audience?

Given her confusion, Brienne found herself much more interested in what Ser Jaime did that morning than she had been the previous day; she accepted him getting her favourite food for her without complaint, she did not laugh nervously when he told her that her blue breeches went well with her eyes, neither did she object when he asked her to help him tie his golden hand to his arm. She watched, somewhat mystified, when he gleefully listened to Genna tell him all about a book cover she was embroidering, then kept up the same rapt attention when Gerion excitedly shouted about a dragon he saw flying over the Narrow Sea. Spotting her bemused expression, Ser Jaime smiled at her.

"I told you yesterday, wench," he said as Gerion scampered away, "we make adorable children."

As if to emphasise the point, he squeezed her hand under the table and this time she did not pull away.

After breakfast, Brienne and Ser Jaime went to saddle up the horses for their journey to the mine. The sun was bright and hot, so Brienne felt warm as they crossed the courtyard. It would be a long, sweaty ride into the hills. However, her face only began to really burn when she spotted Podrick and Josmyn sheltering in the shade. Her steps faltered, until Ser Jaime took her hand again and pulled her close.

"Don't be scared," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Brienne tried to scowl at him, but she did not have the power to so when he was being kind. "I am _not_ scared."

"Yes you are," Ser Jaime replied. "I know you well. It is not swords or spears that scare you, but people and their cutting words. Podrick won't bite you; in fact, he'll be happy you are friends again."

"I don't..." she began, blushing profusely. "I can't... I don't know how..."

Ser Jaime squeezed her hand. "Of course you do. Come, my sweet stubborn wife. Let's go and bandage the wound. I'll be with you."

He proved a rock solid support as they crossed the courtyard together, towards where Josmyn and Podrick were loitering. At their approach, both men stood up straight, tension etched on their faces.

"Good morning Jos, Pod," said Ser Jaime, nodding at them both in turn.

"Good morning," they parroted back in unison. While Josmyn gazed at Brienne defiantly, Podrick still seemed a little sheepish. It made the banks burst on her apologies at once.

"I am sorry I spoke so rudely to the two of you yesterday," Brienne blurted, in one big rush of air. As both men looked more relaxed at her apology, she scrabbled around for an excuse. "I find I am much more tense when I am pregnant, and it makes me act irrationally... so I am sorry."

Podrick's expression brightened at once. "That is alright, my lady. I am just happy you are well. You seemed so... _angry_ yesterday."

He seemed so willing to forgive her - almost _too_ willing - that Brienne felt she had to hammer home her contrition for a second time. "I am sorry," she said again, motivated by the palpable relief in her former squire. "As I said, I was not in my right mind..."

Josmyn smiled at her tentatively. "Well, maybe once you have given birth, you and Pod could have that sparring match? As a way to make amends."

"I would like that," said Brienne honestly.

Podrick nodded in agreement. "So would I."

"Good," interjected Ser Jaime happily. "I am sorry to say, Pod, that my money is still on the wench, but I will be happy to watch you attempt to beat her."

Both Podrick and Josmyn laughed. "Well," said the former. "I can only try my best."

The nervous tension that had permeated Brienne's entire person dissipated somewhat in the aftermath of the accept apology, as she became washed away in conversation with Josmyn, Podrick, and Ser Jaime, mostly about what they would be doing for the rest of the day. It was a marked contrast to how things had been back in Renly's camp, where she had been permanently on guard for some jibe or cutting joke.

"Are you going out somewhere?" asked Josmyn, looking between Ser Jaime and Brienne when he noticed their travelling cloaks.

Ser Jaime nodded. "Yes. We have a meeting at the mine with representatives of the stonemason's guild. We were just going to saddle up Courage and Valour."

"Have a good time," said Josmyn, raising his eyebrows. "I know how cutthroat those stonemasons can be."

"We will," replied Jaime, before turning to direct Brienne towards the stable. "We shall see you later... if we come back alive."

There was a round of laughter and goodbyes before Ser Jaime and Brienne headed away from Josmyn and Podrick, ostensibly to find their horses. He smiled at her proudly.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it, wench?"

"I suppose not," conceded Brienne, exhaling in order to rid herself of the last scraps of tension pervading her body. It was only then that she realised he was still holding her hand. "Th-thank you."

Ser Jaime nudged her shoulder with his. "It is no matter. I am glad to help."

Surprised by his easy kindness, Brienne let Ser Jaime continue to hold her hand when they went into the stables, and then allowed him to take the lead with the grooms. It was only when they were left to their own devices that she let go of him so he could feed his chestnut stallion a bag of oats. That was not the only kindness he showed his horse, however, as he brushed out his ride's mane and patted his neck. "You're a good boy aren't you, Valour?" he asked, petting his horse. "A very good boy. Do you want some more oats?"

As Brienne fed her own horse, she looked at the Kingslayer a little bemusedly as he went about chattering to Valour. "You seem to like that horse," she said somewhat suspiciously, not believing that a man who had so heartlessly cut down his king could have a soft spot for animals.

"I love this horse," said Ser Jaime cheerfully. "Selwyn named him, because a brave knight must always have Valour, but he loves me the best, don't you Valour?"

Brienne could only watch as Ser Jaime continued to baby the horse and feed him more oats. It was quite an incongruous image given the sullen, angry Kingslayer she had left in the woods back in the Riverlands. Unable to deal with it, she fed her own horse a few oats and then mounted.

"Come," she said to Ser Jaime, "we best be off. We do not want to be late."

"Always so dutiful, wife," he smirked as he mounted his own horse. Brienne blushed so red at his smile that she had to look away.

The journey up to the mine proved to be a long one, as the terrain was rugged and somewhat impenetrable the higher into the heavens they climbed, and it was so windy they had to be careful with their horses on the narrower paths. Ser Jaime did not seem to mind, though; he sang - loudly and proudly - about knights winning jousts and maidens needing rescuing. As Brienne had nothing to say, she contented herself with listening to his sweet timbre, surprisingly tuneful, as they made their journey to the mine. They only time Ser Jaime stopped singing was when they reached a high pass in one of the hills that overlooked the whole island. It afforded a few of the lush green valleys below as well as the never ending sea. Ser Jaime inhaled sharply when he saw her kingdom stretched out below him.

"It never gets old, does it?" he asked, his voice dreamy.

"What?"

"Tarth," he said gently. "Its beauty is beyond compare."

Given that Ser Jaime had been raised at Casterly Rock, the most magnificent castle in the Seven Kingdoms, she struggled to believe he was telling the truth. Nevertheless, she nodded. For her, nothing had ever reached the serene wonder of Tarth.

"I feel sorry for Arthur in a way," said Ser Jaime suddenly, leading his horse over a patch of particularly rough terrain. It took Brienne a few moments to remember that, in this world, she had two extra children she had yet to meet; Arthur and Galladon, who were both being squired at Riverrun with Edmure Tully. "He gets to inherit Casterly Rock - that austere, gigantic nightmare of a castle - while Gal gets Evenfall Hall, which is actually home."

Brienne gazed at her husband quizzically, confused by his description of her ancestral seat. "Surely Casterly Rock is the grander inheritance?"

"Perhaps," said Ser Jaime with a shrug, "but he doesn't get Tarth... doesn't get this little slice of the Seven Heavens, this perpetual peace."

"Tarth has not _always_ been peaceful," said Brienne, thinking of Argella Durrandon's defiant last stand and the brief period of time in which the Evenstar lost half his island to Myrish pirates.

Ser Jaime nodded, a strange sadness in his eyes. "Of course not... what with your father and the pretender Aegon... it has not always been serene. But it is peaceful now... it is my peace."

Brienne thought to press him on his mentions of the pretender Aegon and her father, but she did not want to turn this fever dream into an even bigger nightmare, so elected to keep the sadness at bay. Digging her spurs gently into her horse's side, she quickened her pace in order to move on from this slightly strange conversation. Nevetheless, she remained in silence as they went on through the hills while permitting Ser Jaime to make idle conversation. He spoke of Arthur and Galladon, the sons she did not yet know, and filled in several of the last twenty years.

"Arthur is like my father in many ways; tactical, with a cool head, and an ability to think beyond his heart, but with none of his brutality. I think Casterly Rock will suit him in a way, especially if we can find him a match amongst the Westerland bannermen."

Brienne swallowed, her fears about arranged matrimony rising up in the pit of her stomach once more. "You would marry him to some poor girl he has never met?"

"Of course not, but it is fruitless to pretend he can just go off and marry for love like we did, especially when it is so pressing that he makes friends in the Westerlands." Even though Brienne coughed loudly at the fact that Arthur would not be permitted to marry for love _like we did,_ Jaime did not seem to notice but continued his explanation. "We will of course let him choose out of the pool though. Addam Marbrand's daughter Lynora is a sweet girl who could make him a fine wife in time, and one of Lord Farman's twin daughters could also be a match for him. After he has finished his period squiring for Lord Edmure, we could send him to the Westerlands with Josmyn and he could set up court."

"You would trust Josmyn?" asked Brienne, perplexed, thinking of the laughing young man she had apologised to in the courtyard.

"Of course. Josmyn was my squire, and he is a good lad... well, he's a man grown now. Perhaps he will want to find a wife just as Arthur will. We can trust him with our son when the time comes, just as we will trust Podrick to be Castellan on Tarth for Galladon. The boy took a noose for you, after all."

As that was the second time Ser Jaime had told her that interesting titbit that connected her to Podrick, Brienne thought to press him on the finer points of that story, but quickly changed her mind. She did not want to know what had happened in the last twenty years, because surely it would alter everything. She was sure she could still get back somehow and regain her missing years as this was not a case of amnesia, but a person lost in time. Knowledge would therefore ruin everything.

 _I will keep my oath to Lady Catelyn,_ she thought as she watched Ser Jaime, sunny and bright and full of laughter. _I will take the Kingslayer back to King's Landing and his sister, even if it makes this world nothing but a mirage._

She did not talk much for the rest of the journey to the mine but was content to listen to Ser Jaime soliloquise on the beauty of Tarth and even sing a few more songs. He had a clear, manly voice that seemed to echo off the surrounding landscape and Brienne let herself be washed away by it. She only knew they were approaching the mine when Ser Jaime stopped singing, and a group of people came into view.

"It's the Evenstar and Lord Jaime!" announced one of the men loudly in a gruff voice, but Brienne only recognised him when they were quite close. It was Will, the nephew of Ser Goodwin, the old Master-at-Arms. The last time Brienne had seen him he had been a scraggly youth of twenty-three, with a spotty face and gangly limbs. When Brienne was a girl, he had loved to tell her stories that terrified and thrilled her, and none more so than that of dishonourable murderer, the Kingslayer.

"He gutted the Mad King right next to the Iron Throne, and the blood ran down the steps," he had grinned, while Brienne stared up at him in an awestruck horror. Knowing he had an enraptured audience, Will would increase the drama in the story. "Laughing in pleasure at the crime committed, he sat down on the Iron Throne, crowning himself in all but name."

Will's stories had horrified Brienne as a child, but she always came back for more, as the boy who had been one of the few people on Tarth who did not laugh at her ungainly frame or ugly features. He had never been bothered by deformities in appearance, but corruptions of the soul on the other hand...

"Ah, Will!" cried Ser Jaime as he dismounted from his horse. "I am glad you could come out to meet us. It is nice to be greeted by one of the foremen of the mine, who so intimately knows this business."

Will smiled as Ser Jaime went to help Brienne down from Courage, his hands holding her waist as she jumped down. "Not at all, m'lord. Everyone at the stonemason's guild is excited to hear about your deal with the Braavosi."

"We will be happy to explain it to you," said Ser Jaime, standing close to Brienne. "But would you be so kind as to get someone to take Valour and Courage to the stable? If they are not fed well, the Evenstar will worry."

Sticking his fingers in his mouth, Will whistled for an apprentice. When one came scampering over, the man ordered Valour and Courage to be stabled, before turning back to Brienne and Ser Jaime. "We will be meeting Old Master Axell, the head of the stonemason's guild, up at the mine entrance if you would be willing to follow me."

Ser Jaime looped his arm with Brienne's. "We would be honoured, wouldn't we, my lady?"

"Y-Yes," she stammered, astounded that Will was speaking to the Kingslayer - this character from a nightmare - with utmost courtesy.

As they walked up to mine entrance, Brienne could only watch as two versions of herself collided in an unexpected fireworks display. She knew Will from her girlhood, so was aware that he had a burning hatred for the Lannisters - given his cousin had died in the Sack of King's Landing at the end of Robert's Rebellion - therefore she could not understand how he was talking to this golden puppy version of Jaime Lannister with a smile.

"Was the Sealord receptive to your proposition, my lady Evenstar?" asked Will.

As Brienne had no clue what the proposition was, she turned to Ser Jaime with pleading eyes. "Yes, he was receptive," Ser Jaime replied, saving her bacon. "If everything goes well, we should have a deal that is amenable to both parties."

"Good. Lord Selwyn tried to get a deal with the Sealord when he was Evenstar, but never had much success. Hopefully, this arrangement will bring money to the stonemason's guild."

"And not _just_ the guild," added Ser Jaime. "But Tarth's shipping industry, and the markets, and the..."

Yet Will the Foreman did not seem to care about the impact of Ser Jaime's deal on the wider Tarth economy, just the mines. It was a view shared by the whiskered overseer, Axell, who was waiting for them just outside the mine entrance.

"So how many tons of marble is the Sealord looking for?" asked Axell, the second after they had exchanged pleasantries.

"Enough for his palace, I have it here in my notes," Ser Jaime replied, producing a neat scroll from beneath his cloak. Axell took it from him and instantly began to unravel it. "I am sorry about the handwriting. You must forgive a poor cripple."

Axell smiled in an attempt to be deferential. Brienne could tell it did not come naturally to him. "Don't worry, m'lord. My boy Floriel lost his whole arm in a mining accident when he was fifteen. I know how difficult it is, and you are doing admirably."

To Brienne's surprise, Ser Jaime blushed at the small compliment. Gazing at him quizzically, she suddenly wondered if he had much experience of other people's kindness; a lack of it could make some men unduly harsh.

When Axell did not speak for a few moments, Brienne decided to intervene, conscious that she had a duty to her island just as much as her husband. "Is everything well?"

"Oh yes," said Axell, running his hand through his beard, a sceptical expression on his face. "Quite well, it just says here that the Sealord would also be interested in buying more marble for the use of rebuilding some of Braavos' dilapidated Drowned Town, is that correct?"

Brienne turned to Ser Jaime, not knowing the answer. Luckily, he was fully up to speed with events. "Yes, but I only agreed on the condition I spoke with the stonemason's guild and the workers first to ensure such a high production rate was possible."

"As head of the stonemason's guild, I am not sure it _is_ possible," said Axell, as if he regretted his answer. "We have a set way of doing things on Tarth... ways that would not allow such a dramatic increase in output."

In her youth, Brienne's father had repeatedly struggled with balancing the need to increase marble production to improve livelihoods and the intransigent reluctance to change on the part of the stonemason's guild. Although she secretly believed it would be impossible to move Axell from his position, she thought it best they try.

"Perhaps we could discuss this further while you give us a tour of the mine?" she suggested. Ser Jaime squeezed her hand appreciatively. "We will be able to deduce what is and isn't possible from there, and perhaps persuade you to our way of thinking about things."

"Well, now is your opportunity, m'lords," said Axell, handing the scroll back to Ser Jaime. "Persuade me that producing more marble is in mine and Tarth's best interest."

The man who Brienne had met back in the Starks' dungeon would have only succeeded in alienating people he needed to charm, but Ser Jaime was quite different. Playing the part of the stupid lord unaware of mining techniques, even though he had been raised on a literal goldmine, Ser Jaime let Axell and Will lead them on a tour through the mine. The overseer and the foreman kept trying to illustrate how the rules of the stonemason's guild would not permit more production, but Ser Jaime would enlighten them with a golden smile of a technique they used in the Westerlands to increase yields. As the day wore on, Axell and Will became more impressed with Ser Jaime and therefore his proposition. It took both him and Brienne talking to them, some workers who knew how the mining system operate, and the other foremen before they budged slightly, and only an offer to talk more over dinner really set the compromise in stone.

"Yes, it would be an honour to have you at the stonemason's lodge my lady Evenstar, m'lord," said Axell with a stiff bow. "Perhaps we can shore up our agreement over a bottle of Arbor Red?"

Ser Jaime smiled. "That would be wonderful, ser. Lead on."

It seemed that Axell and the stonemason's guild were prepared for such an eventuality as when Brienne, Ser Jaime, Axell, and Will arrived at the stonemason's lodge at dusk they found most of the guildsmen and their wives already present for a feast. The guests were quickly seated at the high table with Axell, who offered a toast in their honour as the first course was served.

"I think they were planning to be amenable to our plans the entire time," smiled Ser Jaime, resting his hand on Brienne's knee beneath the table.

She grinned at him tentatively but did not flinch away. "Perhaps. They did have this lovely banquet prepared for us after all."

"And they did not skimp on the Arbor Red either, although perhaps we should ask for yours to be watered down."

Brienne was a little horrified by that suggestion. "Why?"

"Firstly, you are with child," said Ser Jaime carefully, even as a teasing light danced in his eyes, "and secondly we both know how terrible you are at taking your drink, wench."

"No I am not!"

"Yes you are!"

"No I am _not_!"

"Yes you _are_!"

Ser Jaime eventually won the argument, though, as he appealed to her mothering instincts. Although she pouted about it Brienne reluctantly had to admit she was thankful, as although she ate mountains of lamprey pie, crab, chicken soup, and lemon cakes, the wine still went to her head, especially when people kept making drunken toasts as the evening wore on.

"A toast to the Evenstar!"

"A toast to Lord Jaime!"

"A toast to their children!"

"A toast to the Sealord of Braavos!"

As she drank more and more wine, Brienne grew light-headed, so by the time the stonemason's brought the singer out after pudding she was laughing at every single one of Ser Jaime's jokes. The singer was a golden-haired youth of around eighteen, who played the high harp like an angel and looked like one too. His repertoire consisted of sad songs that broke her heart, and melancholy ones that made her weep, and the gathered guests fell to a hush to listen.

_"My featherbed is deep and soft,_

_And there I'll lay you down._

_I'll dress you all in yellow silk,_

_And on your head a crown._

_For you shall be my lady love,_

_And I shall be your lord._

_I'll always keep you warm and safe,_

_And guard you with my sword."_

Overcome by the sweetness of the singer's voice, Brienne began to sniffle. She tried to hide it by swallowing repeatedly - she did not want anyone spotting her weakness - but in the next moment, Ser Jaime was extending a hand to her.

"Handkerchief?" he whispered, presenting one to her.

Brienne shook her head. "I'm not crying," she insisted, dabbing at her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. Even though she was a little drunk, she would not permit him to see her vulnerable.

"Yes you are," Ser Jaime smiled, putting the handkerchief in her hand before wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He was so warm. "My wench always weeps at romantic songs."

Brienne folded her arms, determined not to be the woman he thought she was. "No, I do not!" she whispered, as the singer completed an impressive coloratura passage.

"Yes you do," replied Ser Jaime simply, his palpable affection burning like fire. "And that is fine. My shoulder is here. Weep all you want. I'll comfort you."

As the singer continued his rendition of _My Featherbed,_ Brienne tried to resist the cascade of feelings that were threatening to overtake her, but the story of young lovers fleeing to the woods and her own predicament eventually got the better of her. Washed away by watered down wine and the close warmth of Ser Jaime's body, she eventually put some of her weight against him during the harp solo, and then tentatively rested her head against his shoulder as the singing began again. The moment she did so, Ser Jaime's hand jumped to her hair and he began to play with the strands that framed her face, alternatively tucking them behind her ear and twisting them into ringlets around his fingers.

_"And how she smiled and how she laughed,_

_The maiden of the tree._

_She spun away and said to him,_

_No featherbed for me._

_I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,_

_And bind my hair with grass,_

_But you can be my forest love,_

_And me your forest lass."_

When the singer had finished, there was an almighty applause from the gathered crowd. Old Axell was up on his feet, Will was cheering, and Ser Jaime banged his golden hand on the table. Perhaps the drink was increasing the audience's enjoyment of the music, but it was entertaining all the same.

"Bravo!" cried Brienne as the singer bowed, before beginning to collect coins in his cap. She turned to Ser Jaime, smiling. "Didn't he have a beautiful voice?"

"Wonderful," Ser Jaime agreed. "Beautiful enough to make my wench weep."

Given the evidence, Brienne knew it was futile to lie.

* * *

Ser Jaime did not take his arm from around Brienne's shoulders until it was time to leave, and she had to admit she felt emptier when he finally retreated from her. To compensate for his loss, Brienne stayed close to him as they said goodbye to the merchants, holding his right arm and his golden hand for support as they moved around the room. He seemed to have a gift for ingratiating himself with people, and evidently knew each and every member of the guild by name. Letting him take charge, Brienne just nodded and smiled as they said their farewells, then let him lead her out of the timber-framed lodge into the night.

"Are you still feeling warm from the wine, wench?" asked the Kingslayer, when they went out to the stable to collect their horses.

She giggled. "A little."

"I'll have to watch you," he laughed. "We cannot have the Evenstar fall off her horse dead drunk while coming back from the stonemason's feast!"

"I'm not _that_ drunk!"

"Still, I'll watch you and stop you from falling."

He was as good as his word as they made their way back down the mountain. Ser Jaime made Brienne ride in front of him, so he could make sure she stayed upright on the craggy path. The cool evening breeze worked at sobering Brienne up rather quickly as they journeyed along, but still the warm feeling at the centre of her chest did not leave her, though its cause changed. Gone was the fuzzy tipsiness, replaced by a hazy awareness that Ser Jaime was watching her back, assiduously checking she did not fall. The level of care was something Brienne had never experienced before, so she was surprised to discover that it felt as if he had lit a candle in the centre of her chest, filling her with warmth and light.

That feeling had not disappeared when they arrived back at Evenfall Hall. In fact, it only grew as Ser Jaime helped her dismount her horse, before they left Valour and Courage with their grooms and headed back into the keep. He held her arm the whole way there, and Brienne could not bring herself to shrug him off until he issued her with an instruction when they arrived in the entrance hall.

"Go up and have your bath," said Ser Jaime.

"Bath?" replied Brienne, raising her eyebrows. "Why would I have a bath?"

"Because I arranged for Pia to have one drawn for you for when we got back," said Jaime. "I know it is late, but I thought you would like to get clean before bed."

He was smiling at her so serenely that Brienne could not bring herself to object.

For the first time that day, Brienne and her husband separated, as Ser Jaime went to see how the children were doing. Taking this as her chance to escape, Brienne went up to the Evenstar's chamber, in which she found a steaming hot bath waiting for her by the fire in the small antechamber. The water had been fragranced with lavender to make it extra relaxing, and someone had lit candles around the room to create a warm, cosy glow. As Brienne went to retrieve her bathrobe from her main chamber, she could not help but wonder if those additions were by Ser Jaime's instructions or not.

Once she had disrobed and folded up her clothes on a chair in the corner of the room, Brienne lowered herself into the bath, making a series of _ahh, oooh, ohhh_ sounds as the hot water surged over her tired muscles. Safely inside, she dunked her head under the water in order to wash the marble dust out of her hair. She then found the bar of soap that had been left in a small silver dish for her use and worked it into a lather under her arm.

 _How pleasant,_ she thought as she scrubbed herself. _How nice to just relax._

Washing the soap suds away, Brienne felt very sensitive as the water cascaded over her skin. Although it was hard to admit, she knew the reason why. Ser Jaime had become suddenly real to her, as real as the Kinglayer had ever been. Remembering the way he had helped her apologise and talk to the stonemasons, she could not help but wonder what type of husband he was. Did he climb on top of her in bed and demand what he was owed as Septa Roelle told her a husband would? Or did Ser Jaime take his time? Did he kiss her? Did he run his fingers through her hair? Did he ask her what she wanted? Did he...?

The door to the antechamber opened, cutting off her train of thoughts. With gentle steps, Ser Jaime entered into the room, having changed into a plain shirt and breeches. His golden hand was still on, but it looked as part of him as his other hand in this ensemble.

In her shock at his sudden arrival, she dropped the bar of soap into the water.

Ser Jaime laughed. "Am I really that surprising, wench?"

"I... I... I..."

Amusement lighting his face, Ser Jaime came and knelt down next to the bath, reaching into the tub to retrieve the soap. Her face flushed furiously when his arm brushed her leg in the quest for the soap, so much so that he was chuckling quietly once more when he found it and held it out to her. Embarrassed, Brienne grabbed it off him and tried to scrub her back, even though she had a great difficulty in doing so while simultaneously trying to cover her breasts from his view.

After a few moments of awkward scrubbing, Ser Jaime was forced to intervene. "Do you need help?" he enquired, his voice soft.

Brienne stopped trying to reach her back with the soap and looked at him tentatively. Ser Jaime's cheeks were rosy red as he gazed at her, waiting for her judgement. In that split second, Brienne suddenly sensed the way in which he was laying himself before her by making this offer, waiting for her to lash out and wound him. Since she had woken up in this strange place, Brienne had done nothing but hurt him again and again, and he had born it without a complaint. Yet looking at his soft expression, his reason for doing so now became immediately apparent. It was for love. He loved her so much that he was letting her cut him, in the hope that at the sight of him bleeding she would come back to him.

"Would you wash my back?" There was a tremor in her voice - she was not used to asking for gentleness from men, after all - but she found her nervousness was not needed, as he smiled at her. It was partly grateful, partly happy as he took the soap and shuffled around the bath so that he was behind her. Brienne made to surrender.

They sat in silence as Ser Jaime washed her back, moving the soap in soft circles across the freckled expanse. She tried to settle into the feeling, to experience the soft comfort that came from another person carefully washing the dirt from her back. However, she had spent so many years alienated from her own body - the huge hulk of flesh she had found herself imprisoned in - that Ser Jaime was touching her with gentleness was scary rather than consoling. To try and protect herself from the feelings that were overtaking her, Brienne hugged her knees.

 _I am brave,_ she told herself, as he drew swirling patterns on her back. _I can endure this._

Eventually, Ser Jaime put the soap down and began to wash the suds away, touching her back with his fingers. In spite of herself, Brienne shivered as he traced a path around her protuberant vertebrae, and then across the more muscular plains of her shoulders. Part of her wanted to tell him to stop, that he should find touching her repulsive and disgusting, but another desired to beg him to never cease.

"I am almost certain I can see the constellations in your freckles," he said, a sweet affection in his tone. "The Moonmaid, the King's Crown... the Wench's Nose."

"There is not a constellation called the Wench's Nose!"

"Well, there should be," said Ser Jaime, as if the topic was not up for debate. "If anyone in this world deserves to be honoured in the sky, it's you, wench. More than the King or an Ice Dragon, or the goddamn Moonmaid. Who is she anyway?"

Although he was clearly trying to amuse her, Brienne found it difficult to smile. This softness he was showing her was so at odds with what she knew about him and herself that it was almost painful. The Kingslayer she had left in the Riverlands had been foul and hateful, and in any universe Brienne of Tarth was ugly, only fit for giving her devotion to other people and not receiving it in return. That she found herself in a bath while Ser Jaime Lannister stroked her back was therefore preposterous to her.

As Brienne did not react to Ser Jaime's joke, he scooted around the bath so he could sit beside her, facing her. His green eyes bored into her skin, but Brienne tried to resist meeting his gaze; she felt as if she would crumble if she did.

"Brienne?"

"What?" she asked, staring down at her knees. His mere closeness elicited a bone-deep fear and longing in her that was entirely unfamiliar.

"What is the matter?" he asked. At his plaintive tone, Brienne looked up at him, to find his eyes were filled with a kind of wounded hurt, as prominent as a ripe bruise. "Ever since I returned from Braavos you have been acting strangely, like you don't care for me, as if everything we are to each other has been erased. Why? Have I done something to upset you? The children...?"

She shook her head, not wanting him to feel this was his fault. "No, nothing like that."

"Then what?"

Brienne sighed, suddenly realising she had no choice but to tell him; perhaps then he would leave her alone and let her play at being his wife rather than truly filling the position, perhaps he wouldn't try to kiss her or hold her or speak to her as if she were as precious to him as one of Rhaegar's rubies, freshly washed up on the shores of the Trident. The truth would make things easier, surely.

"Three days ago, I was in the Riverlands with you," she said, her tongue feeling heavy and thick. Ser Jaime looked at her confusedly but did not attempt to interrupt. "I went to sleep and then I woke up here, and suddenly I was twenty years older with eleven children and a twelfth on the way, grey in my hair, a hideous scar on my face, and a husband who should hate me."

" _Should_ hate you?" Jaime balked. "Why should I hate you, Brienne?"

"Because you were my prisoner!"

"Yes," he said tersely, "twenty years ago."

"But that was like yesterday for me!"

There was a beat of silence as Jaime appraised her, trying to make sense of her seemingly nonsensical words. "Like yesterday? What do you mean?"

"I don't... I can't..." She took a breath. "Three days ago I wasn't here in Tarth, I was in the Riverlands with you. Lady Catelyn had charged me with taking you to King's Landing to trade for her daughters and then I went to sleep, and I woke up and I was _here..._ and I don't understand anything; how I got here, how my life now looks... why I am married to you."

Jaime blinked, the confusion in his eyes being exchanged for dread. "You don't remember what happened since then?"

"It's not that I don't remember," said Brienne, wrapping herself around her swollen belly in an effort to cling onto the physical reality of her new body. "It is that I was there and now I am here... like I somehow travelled... and I have no idea how it happened."

"What is the last thing you remember?"

Brienne took a steadying breath as she thought back on that long ago night that felt so recent. "We were in the Riverlands. You, me, and Ser Cleos."

"Ser Cleos?" said Ser Jaime, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. " _That_ long ago?"

She nodded, somewhat surprised at the fact Ser Jaime seemed to be able to pinpoint that time so precisely. "The last thing I recall is him going to sleep and you saying rude things."

Blindsided by that revelation, Ser Jaime shook his head in disbelief. "So you don't remember any of it?"

"Any of what?"

"Us," replied Ser Jaime, resting his hand on the rim of the bath. He dared not come any closer. "You and me. Our life together. Our family. Do you not remember any of it at all?"

He gazed at her with something that looked like fear, so much so that she felt a little guilty. Breaking eye contact with him, she tightened her grip around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. "I am sorry... but I do not. To me, none of this feels real," she said, gesturing between them to signal the life that had passed which she had no recollection of. "It is as if it is a pageant or a mummer's farce."

The candlelight caught in his eyes, making him look solemn and sad. "I promise you it is not," he said, his voice laced with an obvious desire to treat her with care. "Our relationship is the most real I have ever experienced, and just because you don't remember..."

Brienne interrupted him, not wanting him to misconstrue what she was saying. "It's not that I don't remember it, it's just that yesterday I was _there_ and you were _there_ , and now we are _here_ and I just don't understand how _this_ could have come from _that_."

At her rambling explanation, Jaime smiled at her fondly. It made Brienne's heart do a strange flip. "Hatred turned to dislike, dislike turned to sympathy, sympathy turned to trust, trust turned to respect, respect turned to friendship, friendship turned to adoration, and adoration to a type of love you are lucky to find once in a lifetime. It is all quite simple, really."

"Simple?" said Brienne incredulously, her skin pricking at the warm way he was gazing at her. It was all too much, too incomprehensible to piece together. Brienne of Tarth was not a person who was adored, let alone loved, so Ser Jaime's words felt so sickly sweet it was almost nauseating. "How can it be simple? You just said you adore me... and that sounds so strange to me."

"Why?"

The room seemed to burn with years of shame that had been shaped and cultivated in these very walls. "I am _not_ adorable."

"Yes you are, completely adorable," said Jaime gently, his fingers skirting on the top of the water, sending ripples all around the bath. "If you want, I'll show you how much I adore you if you let me back into our bed. Maybe then you'll remember. I'll show you how much pleasure I can give you."

At his suggestion, Brienne's face suddenly felt supremely hot, and she found she could not quite look at him. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice little more than a croak.

His answer first came in the form of his wet fingers dancing on her cheek, gently stroking her hair behind her ear. Brienne's first instincts were to recoil, but he was touching her so tenderly that she was sorely tempted to lean into him.

Ser Jaime's voice was breathy when he responded. "The Lord's Kiss."

"What does that mean?" Brienne questioned again, turning to look at him even though she felt a little embarrassed, as if they were both skirting round something indecent.

Ser Jaime seemed to confirm her theory when he gave her a teasing smile then leaned in to whisper to her, the tip of his nose brushing her cheek. "It is a way for me to pay homage to my lady... with my tongue."

A thousand images flashed through Brienne's mind, each more sinful than the last. Although Ser Jaime looked positively excited at the prospect of giving her this so-called Lord's Kiss, Brienne could not help but think of him taunting her about men's tongues back in the Riverlands. What use did big ugly Brienne of Tarth have for a man's tongue, after all? She could imagine it all too well; like Ronnet Connington before her, Jaime Lannister would play the handsome lover well, only to break her heart with a cutting laugh.

Interpreting his sweetness as mockery, Brienne flinched away from him, drawing herself into a protective ball on the other side of the bath. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" Ser Jaime asked confusedly, his hand falling limp in the water.

"Stop pretending you care about my pleasure," she said sullenly. "You are my husband. I know what the role of a husband is; to get me with child and take my lands in his name and find his pleasures with a mistress." At that assessment, she remembered a tiny piece of information she had, and tried to make complete sense of the scattered picture with it. Although it barbed and a little painful, Brienne delivered it bluntly. "Is Pia _your_ mistress?"

Ser Jaime let out an indignant huff. "Pia? What on earth makes you say that?"

"She speaks so fondly of you..."

"Pia's feelings for me are public knowledge," he said matter-of-factly. "It does not mean I share them."

That did not assuage Brienne's fears about the proclivities of men in the slightest. Her father had never loved any of the women he had taken into his dead wife's bed, but he had done it all the same. "Rich men with ugly wives do not need to love their mistresses to lie with them. They just need beautiful alternatives after bedding down with beasts."

To Brienne's surprise, Jaime looked strangely wounded, as if this fact was an insult to him. "Don't say that, sweetling," he said, reaching out for her, splashing her in his haste to be near. She did not respond to his need for closeness, however, and did not take his hand when it was offered.

"Why?" she asked, not understanding what this act was about.

"You seem to be implying that I am lying with a beast when I lie with _you_ , and that couldn't be further from the truth," he said, his fingers inches from the bare skin of her arm. "I am lying with my love... with my Brienne."

"Your Brienne?" she repeated incredulously.

"My Brienne," he said again, with a warm burr in his voice. "My beloved Brienne."

She pulled another face. "You _must_ be jesting."

"Why do you think that?"

Brienne tried to give him an answer that did not make reference to her own body, but it was hard. "The Jaime Lannister I know is never so sincere."

" _You_ make me sincere," he replied instantly, cuttingly earnest. "You made me realise that my glibness was just an attempt not to feel, to keep people away who hurt me. Yet once I knew you, I did not want to keep people away from my heart anymore... especially not you. And I could see you needed my words in order to believe me. You needed me to say it and, once everything became clear to me, I was finally able to say how I feel."

Her throat was dry and her tongue heavy, but Brienne managed to find the words. "And how do you feel?"

"I love you, of course," said Ser Jaime, his smile a sunbeam. "And although you think you are unlovable, you are quite wrong because _I_ love you. You are so lovable that you literally had me in chains, but I fell so hard and fast that I did not realise until it was far, _far_ too late. I was so determined to loathe you, but instead you broke your way into my heart, my mind, and my soul, imprisoned me all over again and you have not let go since. How could you expect me to feel anything else but love, when you are never-endingly good, honest, and true?"

His sweetness made Brienne blush and left her entirely without words. It also allowed her to lower her guard, so she stretched out her legs and dropped her arms from around her knees. Her bare breasts peaked above the water line, and Ser Jaime automatically stole a glance. Brienne noticed, but found she was not ashamed. There was something strangely thrilling about having his eyes on her naked body, even if she could not explain why.

She _wanted_ to know why.

"I think I've had enough of my bath now," she said, putting her hands on the rim of the tub and lifting herself out. The water sluiced down the valley between her breasts and clung to the hair between her legs. She should have felt vulnerable, but Ser Jaime looked up at her more like a pilgrim at a shrine than as a lecherous husband. His eyes bright, he scrambled to his feet in order to extend his arm towards her to help her out, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down in his throat. As Brienne took his proffered hand, she tried to ignore the goosebumps shooting up her arm where they touched.

Her feet felt light as she stepped out of the bath, holding her husband's gaze as she did so. Brienne could not fail to notice that his breathing had become heavier, even as he was trying to avert his eyes from her naked body.

"I am wet," she said, stating the truth.

Ser Jaime's cheeks flushed, pink and pretty. It was as if she had said something arousing.

"You are?" he rasped.

"Soaking," she replied, before biting her lip nervously. "I have just had a bath."

Unable to resist a moment longer, Ser Jaime met her gaze. Everything about him was heated; from his expression, to his eyes, to the warmth emanating from him. The fingers of his left hand tensed then relaxed, uncoiling then retracting as they did so. In that action, Ser Jaime looked as if he was trying to rein himself in from moving, from doing something to end this tension. At the sight of him caught in that state, a terrible, intrusive thought suddenly invaded Brienne's mind, blocking out everything else.

 _What would it be like to have him touch me? And for me to touch him in return?_

"I am wet, Jaime," Brienne said again, finding it hard to locate the words that would explain this predicament her heart was trapped in; this weird space between wanting and hating, longing and having, and fearing and feeling. "I need a towel, I need..."

 _You._

Ser Jaime leapt at the opportunity to move away from her, and he crossed the antechamber to retrieve the towel for her. By the time he was back, Brienne had not moved a muscle, not even to breathe.

She waited for him to play the next card.

Ser Jaime obliged her as he held the towel out to her, his knuckles white given how tightly he gripped hold of it. "My lady," he said deferentially, not quite meeting her eye. "Do you need some help drying yourself?"

 _What would it be like to have him touch me?_ she thought again. _And for me to touch him in return?_

 _My husband._

Brienne nodded. At the movement, Jaime's eyes lifted from his own hand to her face. It was as if he were gazing at an eclipse; full of marvel, wonder, and terror.

"I need you to say it," he said hoarsely. "Say that you wish me to serve you."

Her cheeks flushed. Feeling hot and overwhelmed, the words slipped out of Brienne's mouth before she had a chance to think. "I want you to serve me... my lord."

Ser Jaime obeyed without another word. Lifting his hand, he brought the towel to just beneath her throat, across the great expanse of freckled flesh just above her breasts. Not wanting to look at the point at which he touched her hulking, freakish body, Brienne tried to focus on him. A kind of serene pleasure painted his features as he dried her, which she found remarkably odd because he was touching _her,_ not some lady from a song. He had once had the most beautiful woman in the world; surely, he should know better?

 _He can see my face,_ she thought confusedly, as Ser Jaime dried her shoulders. _Why doesn't he blow the candles out or close the window? All women look same in the dark. Surely, he can't want to see me? Brienne the Beauty. Why does he insist on touching me? Why?_

Brienne's spiralling thoughts immediately overcame any tentative pleasure she was getting from this encounter when Ser Jaime dragged the towel down the valley in between her breasts, and she became conscious of how very intimate this gesture was. Dread spiking in her gut, she suddenly grabbed his hand, stopping him from moving any further. His breath caught in his throat as he looked back up at her, his eyes wild.

"Don't," he said, laden with a strange emotion that sounded almost feral to her innocent ears. "Don't do this to me..."

Unable to meet his gaze, she stared at his neck, and was almost convinced she could see his pulse dancing below his skin. "Don't do what?" she asked. Quivering with anticipation, she finally found the strength to look deeply into his eyes. She felt as if she was instantly burned by him.

Immolated.

"Don't tempt me with that you are unwilling to give," he replied, his tone husky. "I am only human... it is unfair of you to tease me."

_The Kingslayer, only human?_

As if to test this proposition, Brienne observed him more closely, as if for the first time. His gold hair, threaded with silver, looked as if it should be sold for a hundred dragons a foot, while his skin was sun-kissed and gorgeous. There was desire in his eyes, no doubt; she knew enough about the world to recognise it in men. Yet there was also a more deeply hidden emotion. More delicate, softer.

When she recognised it as hurt, Brienne was astounded.

_Perhaps he is just a man, after all._

Wanting to apologise but not knowing how, Brienne reached out and took the towel from him, covering her breasts and belly from his gaze. Ser Jaime exhaled in a sudden rush, then stepped back. As he moved away, Brienne felt like a spider and who had just magnanimously released her prey from her gossamer grasp.

"Jaime," she whispered, trying to make sense of what had just passed between them, but he did not reply with her name. Instead, Jaime retreated further from her. Brienne swallowed, attempting to get control both of the strange heat coursing through her veins and also her disappointment when he moved away in order to bring over the bathrobe she had placed on the side in readiness.

It was even more disappointing when he walked back towards the door. "Meet me back in our chamber once you are ready," he said, his voice hoarse. "I've got a surprise for you."

"A surprise...?" she asked, wanting to know more, but he cut her off with a shake of his head.

"It's not a surprise if I tell you what it is!"

Without another word, Ser Jaime disappeared behind the door, leaving Brienne naked and wet and thrumming with a kind of tension that she did not know she was capable of. Wanting to cool down, Brienne desperately dabbed at herself with the towel until she was dry, then put on her dressing gown. She spent a few moments calming her breathing - _think of Renly, think of Renly, think of Renly_ \- before heading back into their chamber, where she found Ser Jaime waiting for her with a trunk that had not been at the bottom of the bed when she had first come into the room.

"What's that?" she asked, resting her hand on her belly as she watched him unfasten the lock with his one hand.

He looked up at her tentatively. "Presents from Braavos."

"Presents?"

"Yes," he replied, his smile growing. "You did not seem receptive to gifts when I first arrived back, but now..." Trailing off, he gave her a gentle nod, before turning back to the trunk.

Brienne could not help but catch his excitement as she went to sit on the bed, wondering what he could have brought her. When she was a child, Brienne's father often went to the Free Cities to do business, and he would bring back presents. While his latest mistress would get a beautiful dress cut to size, Brienne would get ribbons or dolls or a new book. Although her father's gifts were always a little disappointing, Brienne treasured them nevertheless because they were from _him_ and she wanted his love more than anything.

There was no such problem with Ser Jaime's presents.

"Is that a...?"

"A Dothraki arakh, yes," grinned Ser Jaime, taking the polished blade out of the trunk and placing it in her outstretched hands. "I did not think I would want to see one again, but the workmanship on the blade and hilt is so exquisite I thought you would appreciate it."

As he was resting the blade on his gold hand, Brienne had to reach out carefully to take the sword from him, marvelling at the zoomorphic patterns on the hilt. "She really is a beauty," breathed Brienne, watching the light dance on the edge of the blade. She could imagine the damage this would inflict.

"She is," concurred Ser Jaime, coming to sit beside her. "After the birth, we will have to spar with it. It is only right that Brienne the Beauty get to use this beautiful blade."

Although his tone was kind, Brienne could not help but flinch at that old nickname that had hurt worse than any dagger. As she went to put the arakh on her lap, sadness washing over her, Jaime caught her chin with his hand and made her look at him. His touch was warm.

"Don't be sad, wench," he said, his words as delicate as his fingers. "I don't mean that as an insult. I know about Connington and Hunt and all those other bastards who said horrible things to you, but I am not one of them."

The truth hit as suddenly as a skimmed pebble dropping to the bottom of a lake.

"You know about Connington?" sniffled Brienne, her surprise stilling her oncoming tears.

Ser Jaime nodded sombrely. "I know about Connington and I also know how he used those words to wound you, but please understand that I call you Brienne the Beauty not because I am an ass like him, but because you are _my_ beauty, no one else's."

She gazed at him with teary eyes. "Really?"

"Really," he said, nudging her gently with his shoulder. "Now, more presents?"

After he had he acquiescence, Ser Jaime began to unpack everything that was hidden underneath the arakh, each of which was apparently a gift for her. There was a line of sculpted ornaments of zorses that Ser Jaime claimed were made by the Jogos Nhai and a fluted vase from the glassworks of Braavos. Neither were as beautiful as a finely worked blue material he produced from the trunk that was soft to touch, but richly decorated at the same time.

"I thought you could make this into something pretty to wear," said Jaime, as he watched Brienne wrap it around her shoulders. "A cloak, or breeches, or a dress... whatever you would prefer."

Luxuriating in the richness of the material, Brienne gazed at him. "What do you think I should turn it into?"

"I could see this being a pretty shirt," he said, running his fingers over the material. She could feel his touch through the silk. "Or a cloak. Either way, the colour really brings out your eyes."

At the compliment, Brienne blushed furiously and dived for the trunk so she did not have to look Ser Jaime in the eye. She was not yet equipped to deal with sweetness. "And what is this?" she asked, picking up the last gift. It was a small, glass bottle in a rose pink colour, with a red ribbon tied around its fluted neck. Uncorking it, Brienne discovered it contained a perfumed oil that seemed to have no function other than to smell sweet.

The corners of Ser Jaime's mouth turned up in a smile as she continued to gaze at it warily. "Before I went to Braavos, we were lamenting that every time we... _enjoy_ being together as man and wife, you have to drink so much moon tea it makes you sick, lest we have another child in nine months."

Not understanding what he was getting at, Brienne looked at him quizzically. "And what is this? Fancy Braavosi Moon Tea?"

She drew it to her mouth to take a sip, but Ser Jaime quickly pulled it out of her hands. "No, wench," he said, almost spluttering with laughter. "You don't drink it! That is lover's oil."

Even the use of that word - _lover_ \- made Brienne blush to the roots of her hair, so she found she could not look at him. "So what does this... this... _stuff_ do?"

"It is to make things easier, if we want to..." Ser Jaime stalled, clearly troubled by her averted gaze, "...if we want to lie together as we usually do - _joined_ as we usually are - but without any chance of me getting you with child. This will make it easier for us... for me to enter you and then spill inside you... if... we want to try it that way."

Not comprehending anything he was saying, Brienne just stared at him as if he had gone completely mad. "I do not understand."

Ser Jaime's serious expression buckled in the face of her wide-eyed confusion.

"Of course you don't," he said, almost with relief, his smile lighting up his whole face. "My sweet, innocent wife."

And then he did something she was not prepared for; Ser Jaime surged forward and planted a heated, lingering kiss on her cheek, right over the unsightly scar on her face. Brienne froze, dropping the blue silk onto the bed, feeling quite sick at this sudden intimacy. It was not _him_ that was revolting her, as such, just his evident desire for her. How could someone, let alone Ser Jaime Lannister, want to kiss that great unsightly scar? Want to kiss _her?_ Brienne the Beauty, Brienne the Beast? There had to be something wrong with him if he wanted to kiss _her_ , surely?

Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Ser Jaime pulled away. "I'm sorry," he said, his joy faltering. "It is a force of habit."

"What is?" Brienne asked, somehow conjuring the strength to look at him.

"Kissing you," he replied, putting the bottle of lover's oil on the bedside cabinet before reaching out to take her hand. This time, she did not stop him. "We do it a lot."

"We do?" asked Brienne, mystified, her eyes going wide. "Why?"

Ser Jaime laughed, but it was somehow tinged with sadness. "Because we enjoy it. Sometimes we just curl up in bed and kiss, without even lying together."

Brienne tried to imagine that but found it hard. Could she truly exist in a world where there was a man who longed to lie with her? A world where she could receive warmth from another person's body and heart, and not just from a fire in an empty hearth she herself had stoked?

"You are blushing," said Jaime, a mischievous grin lighting his face.

"No I am not."

"Yes you are, my innocent little wife," he smirked, edging closer. "Does it still make you embarrassed to speak of kissing?"

In spite of herself, Brienne's face went even redder. "No," she said sullenly.

Jaime's smile turned into a laugh. "You always were a terrible liar."

"And you've always been cruel!" she retorted, pouting at him. "From the moment we met you've laughed at me. Have you ever stopped?"

"I'm not laughing _at_ you Brienne, I'm laughing _with_ you," he said, moving closer once more. His easy smile made it slightly less scary. "I like how red your cheeks go when I say something scandalous. I enjoy teasing you, and you roll your eyes and tell me not to be silly... it is a way we express our love for one another."

"We do?"

Jaime nodded. "We do."

Having had the realities of her life with her forgotten husband sketched out for her, Brienne was lost for words. What more could be said or discussed? It seemed blatantly obvious that they parried with words, swords, and bodies, and there was something vaguely thrilling about being totally exposed to one another, heart and soul. Jaime seemed to agree, as he rested his hand on her bare knee, his thumb skirting across her skin. Feeling the care in the gesture, Brienne did not flinch away.

"Jaime?"

"Yes?"

"I am so tired."

It was not an excuse to get away from him, but the truth. Brienne's day had been long and emotional, and she now needed to curl up and sleep, if only to make sense of everything that had happened.

"Awww, poor wench," he said warmly. "Best get you to bed."

As she wholeheartedly agreed with that proposition, Brienne surrendered herself to her husband and let him do all the hard work. He pulled the windows shut, stoked the fire, then helped her out of her dressing gown, treating her as if she were a priceless statue of the Maiden in a sept. For a few moments, Brienne was totally naked - all milk-white skin and freckles - but Jaime did not stare or ogle her. Instead, he found her shift then helped her slip it over her head, his one hand straightening the material when it snagged on her swollen belly as it glided down her body. Once she was dressed, Jaime leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. Brienne sucked in a breath, overwhelmed at his tenderness. She was about to reach out to him, to hold him closer, when Jaime pulled away.

"Get under the covers, wench," he ordered, lifting off the bed. "And I'll get changed myself."

Brienne hurried to get into bed, because her eyes were on Ser Jaime, who moved across the other side of the room to get undressed. She watched him work at the ties that held his golden hand to his severed arm, before he deposited it on a small table by the fire. Jaime then began to take his clothes off and Brienne could not look away. Back in the Riverlands, the Kingslayer had asked her if she was _interested,_ and she had answered "no" because he was so easy to hate. This Jaime, though? Who got her breakfast and loved her children and washed her back and spoke to her full of affection? It was impossible not to stare.

When Jaime noticed that she was looking at him, their gaze caught for a moment and he smiled at her, but he did not say anything. Instead, he began to take his clothes off. In fixing his eyes on her, he dared her to keep looking, to enjoy this. Determined not to lose, Brienne locked her gaze on him, even as he shucked off his shirt and his breeches, leaving him wearing nothing but his smallclothes. Brienne watched, fascinated, as the fire highlighted the curling gold and silver hairs on his chest, and made his eyes dance with light.

Clearly aware of the power he now had over her, Jaime swaggered back towards her, a glint in his eye. For a brief moment, Brienne thought he was going to get in bed with her, but that fear (or hope) passed when he settled himself down on the pallet beside the bed. As he pulled the blanket up over himself, Jaime rolled so he could face her.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, gazing up at her with his striking green eyes.

Her answer was surprisingly simple. "You."

At that comment, Jaime smiled, and it made her question the need for candles to light the room.

"Goodnight Brienne."

"Goodnight Jaime."

That night, Brienne did not roll over before she fell asleep as she had done the previous evening, as she wanted the last thing she saw to be Jaime Lannister.

Her Jaime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. As ever, I would love to hear what you think about this story in a comment or kudo. The song in this chapter was "My Featherbed" written by GRRM.


	6. Their Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having her heart to heart with Jaime, Brienne tries to work out what this future really means...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for reading! This chapter is a little shorter than the previous one, but I hope you enjoy.

When Brienne woke up, the birds were singing.

For a moment, she felt as if she had awoken in her childhood bedroom and was listening to her little caged canary singing. However, on opening her eyes she remembered she was not in that long ago room, but in what had been her father's chamber. Painted stars hung overhead and the birds she could hear were wild ones, flying free in the sky beyond her open window.

As Brienne sat up in her bed and stretched, her memories of the previous night came flooding back. She remembered Jaime's whispered words - warm, affectionate, and comforting - and the feeling of him carefully washing her back. It was evocative of a dream she had been having since she was a child, where she was a knight's lady who was loved immeasurably. Yet Brienne could not _quite_ accept that fantasy was the truth here, she was Brienne and he was Jaime after all, but it was obvious that she was a wife to a husband that longed to lie with her, who she denied at every turn.

Wife to a husband who adored her.

Wife to a husband she could barely understand.

Wife to a husband who, in another world, had despised her.

To her relief (but also her disappointment), as she sat up she noticed the pallet on which Jaime slept was empty and the door was slightly ajar. She used her solitude to get dressed undisturbed, gazing at the gifts he had brought her from across the Narrow Sea as she did so. The expensive blue silk shone in the light, and Brienne could not help but wonder what she would make from it. Breeches? A new shirt? Drapes for their bed? There were no such questions to be asked about the Dothraki arakh gleaming bright from its position against the wall, which Brienne desired to try out in the training yard as soon as she got an opportunity. Yet neither caught Brienne's attention as much as the bottle of lover's oil Jaime had placed on top of their bedside cabinet. Although she knew she should not think of it, as she washed herself in the basin by the window, Brienne could not help but try and imagine what it could be used for. She could just imagine rubbing it into his perfect, golden skin and feeling the muscles beneath, taut and strong...

Brienne shook her head and splashed her face with water, refusing to be drawn there. No matter what Jaime Lannister was in this world, back in the place where she belonged, he was a monster who she was entrusted with bringing back to King's Landing by Lady Catelyn, not this domestic little housecat who was content to curl up by the fire while she stroked his hair. No matter how sweet and attentive he had been, she had to remember where home was. It was back in in the Riverlands where she had clutched her dead love's sword and vowed to do right by Lady Catelyn. There was no room for a loving husband, an army of children, and never-ending warmth there.

Once dressed, Brienne decided the best thing to do was to walk around Evenfall Hall and the wider landscape to remind herself what this place was; an illusion. Clothed in a shirt and breeches that she would have been comfortable in back in her old life, Brienne abandoned the trappings of her new - the Valyrian steel sword on the wall, her husband's gifts, the need to see her baby - and began her journey around Evenfall Hall.

She started in the antechamber to her bedroom, which had once been her father's office but now contained the bath she had used the previous night. It was here Selwyn Tarth had poured over the accounts of the island and entertained his women in equal measure. Brienne had sometimes come to see him in here on a stormy night, searching for comfort, but the most he had given her was a pat on her head and a reassurance that the storm would soon past. As she mulled on these distant days, Brienne could not help but think if she told Ser Jaime she was scared of a storm, he would make a joke at her expense before pulling her into a calming embrace, kissing her as he did so. It would be a strange type of comfort she was not used to, but she could not help but wonder if she would find it more reassuring than her father's empty words.

From the antechamber, Brienne headed down to the courtyard where, as expected, she found Podrick and Josmyn sparring. They were both so intent on thrashing their opponent that Brienne only smiled at them both sincerely as she walked past. That she had had a young man as a squire, who looked up to her for guidance and direction, was still too much to seriously contemplate, so she walked on. She found Argella and Alysanne sneaking out of the kitchens with lemon cakes in their hands. When they looked up at her sheepishly, Brienne put a finger to her lips to demonstrate she would keep their secret. They scampered off, full of giggles.

For the rest of the day, she made herself familiar with the shape and sounds of Tarth. She walked down to the nearby town, where she brought some bread for herself, and made encouraging noises when the baker asked her if she was happy now Lord Jaime had returned home. It was blatantly obvious that every butcher, baker, and candlestick maker on the island knew that she and Ser Jaime were desperately in love, and it surprised and shocked her when her people smiled knowingly at her and asked her where her husband was.

 _How could they sincerely believe that Jaime Lannister loves me?_ she thought. _It is not even slightly plausible given who we once were._

Once she had filled her belly, Brienne walked up into the hills. As there was nothing more comforting than being surrounded by nature, the wind riffling through her hair, she felt compelled to lay down in one of the meadows she came across, looking up at the sky. She felt the weight of hers and Ser Jaime's unborn child inside her, and it nearly brought tears to her eyes.

_How can this world be mine?_

_How can Jaime love me?_

_How can I ever be loved at all?_

Hours passed and Brienne spent them thinking of Jaime and this life they had built together. The night he had returned from Braavos he had been longing to hold her, to lie with her, and she had pushed him away, disgusted. But what had she truly been disgusted at? Him? Or the fact that he loved her so?

As she gazed up at the sky, she saw his smile in the clouds.

Eventually, the sun started its journey down towards the west and Brienne got to her feet, thankful she had servants who could keep the household running for a day while she went to discover herself in the hills. In fact, as she caught a view of the castle, the town, and the great sea stretching beyond, Brienne could not help but be thankful for _everyone_ on the island, who let her fit in without a single mocking joke or jape.

It was time she returned to them.

After a day of being the ghost of Tarth, Brienne finally stepped back into her own shoes. One of her favourite things to do as a girl had been to sit in the private garden that lay behind the Evenstar's rooms, so once she returned to Evenfall Hall that was where she went. As a child, she could only go in there with her father's permission, but now she was at liberty to do as she pleased. Heading past the servants, she made her way to the small quadrangle, and on arrival was surprised to see she was not alone. Ser Jaime was sitting on the small bench at the centre of the garden, wearing a doublet and hose in Tarth colours, just gazing at the flowers. His doublet was undone, revealing both the expensive undershirt and a flash of silver-gold chest hair. She stalled on spotting him. He was so indecently beautiful.

"What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously, as he turned to look at her.

Once he realised that she was there, Ser Jaime flashed her a grin that was the most tender she had ever seen. Seemingly held up by his dimples, there was something in that smile that made her give him one of her own one back.

"The roses we planted last year are fully in bloom," he said. "Come see."

After edging towards him, Brienne stood awkwardly by his side, until he raised his right arm and rested his stump on her lower back. By the way he looked at her, Brienne realised he was trying to encourage her to sit down, so decided to indulge him. The second she did so, he wrapped his arm around her and pointed out the flowers. "Do you see them? Just over by the south door? Orys has done a good job with them, hasn't he?"

"They are very pretty," she said, even though she wasn't really paying attention to the roses but to the immovable heat of his body beside her. It had been something she was aware of when dragging him around the Riverlands, but here it was not so threatening. Here, he felt like hers. It was almost too much to accept.

As she gazed at the roses, a silence fell between them, until it went on for so long that it eventually encouraged Jaime to turn and look at her. Feeling a little heated under his gaze, Brienne flexed and relaxed her hands that were resting on her lap in order to calm herself. He smiled, clearly recognising this self-comforting gesture.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his face inches from hers.

She shrugged as a blush extended across her chest. Her heart was so traitorous when he was near. "I don't know... life, I suppose."

"Life?" he said. "What about it?"

Struggling with the words, Brienne tried to think of the best way to phrase it without upsetting him. "These past few days, I have seen the life that some version of me will one day have and it just seems so... impossible."

"Why?" asked Jaime, reaching across his own lap with his good hand to intertwine their fingers. He did it as if it were as natural as breathing. In spite of this intimate gesture, however, there was a distant storm cloud in his eyes. "Don't you believe you could love me? Love the children you've had with me?"

Sensing his hurt, Brienne squeezed his fingers, wanting to convey she was not in the same frame of mind as she had been when she waved a dagger at him on the night he had returned. "No, I believe that. I realise that something must have changed between us, something to change my perspective and my heart, to see you differently. It's just... there is no changing your perspective on me."

Jaime furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I'm ugly," Brienne said simply. When Jaime pulled a face, she shook her head. "No, don't try and tell me I am beautiful, because the truth is written on my face. I am ugly and you are not, and I just can't understand how you could overlook that... how you could..."

As confused tears constricted her throat, Brienne's words ran dry. She looked down where their hands were joined, waiting for a jape. It never came. Instead, his touch just spoke of the years of warmth and intimacy between them that she had been told about but could not understand, could not believe. How could a man like him and a woman like her be in love? Yet by the look in his eye, she could tell he was determined to persuade her of the truth of it, even if it killed him.

"You are my sunlight, my sunrises, my birdsong in the mornings," Ser Jaime said dreamily, running his thumb across the back of her hand. Brienne could only stare, dumbstruck. "You are the star that I use to guide my way in the darkest of nights, that draws me home even when I feel that all hope is lost. You are the only goddess that I worship, the only woman that I love, the mother of my children. You and everything we have built together are the world to me, Brienne, _everything_ , and I wouldn't change it for all the gold in Casterly Rock. The way you look is immaterial to all that I feel and has no effect on our past or what we are to each other now. What happened between us occurred soul to soul, not face to face."

Brienne gaped at him incredulously, taking in every inch of emotion that was so clearly etched into his features. It all seemed so strange, so impossible, but the reality of their love was staring her in the face. "But... why?" she stammered, almost unable to match Ser Jaime to the foul-mouthed Kingslayer she had wanted to kill in the Riverlands just before she went to sleep. "When I saw you back when you were my prisoner, you made some horrible joke about your tongue and verbally abused me as I tied you to a tree."

Ser Jaime let out a sad little laugh, letting go of her hand as he did so. "For me, that was twenty years ago, wench, and a lot can happen in twenty years."

"Like what?" she asked, pressing him again. "What can have happened to change what _I_ feel now to what _you_ feel now? How can you look past this face to see me underneath?"

She expected him to answer at once, with some incredible story that would barely be believable, but instead he just shook his head sadly. "No, I cannot tell you that... don't ask it of me."

"Why?" His reticence to speak genuinely confused her.

Jaime sighed and reached out to her with the hand that remained to him once more. A few days previously, she may have flinched away from him, but now she let him feel her. His touch was gentle as his hand closed around her wrist. From anyone else it would feel a fleshy shackle, but from him it just seemed he just wanted to interlock their fingers together and was giving her a chance to say no.

"We don't know how you got here," he answered simply. "Did you really travel? Or have you just forgotten our lives together? Is our story already written, or could you rewrite it with a casual flick of your pen?"

Not immediately having an answer for him, Brienne shrugged. She _felt_ as if she had travelled, but it could just as easily be that she had forgotten the last twenty years; their journey back to King's Landing, him losing his hand, falling in love, journeys home and marriage and babies. Deep down, she hoped it was the former. She did not know if she believed she could experience such joy, so to forget it all seemed monstrously cruel.

"I believed I travelled," she told him, with the alternative too awful to contemplate.

That confession seemed to fix a strange resolve in his eye. "Then I refuse to tell you how we fell in love."

Brienne blinked. "Why?"

At her question, Ser Jaime looked like a deer catching the scent of a hunter. Nevertheless, he managed to find the strength to squeeze her hand with his in a comforting gesture. "I cannot tell you how we got to this place, for fear that you will go back and change everything out of spite for me. And no matter how little you think of me and my feelings now, I _do_ love you and I refuse to cut you out of my heart. I will not give you up, Brienne, not even for you. I have always been selfish that way."

Lost for words, Brienne just gazed at this man - her husband, her enemy, her prisoner, her personal enigma - and tried to puzzle him out. He gazed at her so softly, like someone who truly loved her, that Brienne was suddenly washed away by the strength of his emotion; blinding, beautiful, and immense.

For a moment, she felt as if she shared it.

Lifting her hands to his face, she beheld him. It was remarkable the way his face fit her cupped hands, as if she had been made to hold him. Even more extraordinary was the way his whole body relaxed when she touched him, and the how his green eyes seemed to come alight with a glow that he only kept burning for her.

"Is this... err... _normal_ for us?" she asked tentatively, afraid that he would push her freckly, over-sized hands away, laughing because she looked like a peasant holding porcelain.

However, Ser Jaime did not laugh. Instead, he leaned into her touch, his short beard tickling her palm. "Very normal," he said, smiling. "Also, you sometimes run your hands through my beard and tell me how well it suits me. I like that."

There were crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he smiled which told her he was telling the truth, so Brienne decided to do what he suggested. With careful fingers, she stroked the beautiful curve of his jaw, and Jaime made a noise that almost sounded like a purr at the back of his throat. Although she had thought to tell him sweet things, there was something primal in that groan that made her pull away.

Ser Jaime's eyes were full of hurt.

"Wench," he said, his voice hoarse. "Come back to me. Please. I miss you."

"I didn't go anywhere," she protested weakly. "You just ran so far ahead I cannot catch up."

She did not realise the tears had begun to roll down her cheeks until Ser Jaime opened his arms and she could do nothing but fall into them, her head resting on his shoulder as he stroked her hair.

"Oh Brienne, don't cry..."

"I can't remember anything," she managed to choke out, as he rubbed soothing circles onto her back. "I have this whole life here that I can't remember, so I can barely understand how I got to here... to this moment."

"If it helps, I barely understand the life we share either, but I love it all the same," he said, his soothing words riffling through her hair on sweet breath. "Before you, I was sad and alone and trapped in a darkness I thought I could never shake. You brought me the dawn, and I will love you forever for that."

She smiled against his shoulder. " _We Bring the Dawn._ Those are the Tarth house words."

"I know, and they have never been more applicable to anyone as you, my love," he said gently, turning the soothing circles on her back into a full on embrace as he wrapped his other arm around her. Brienne thought about flinching away, but there was something so comforting about the sincere strength of his body and the smell of leather, sweat, and _him_ that she ended up staying. She even found the strength to wrap her own arms around him in turn.

They stayed like that for a while, listening to the birds sing, as the sun set over the horizon. Jaime petted her hair and kissed her cheeks as her tears finally receded, making her more confused and heart-warmed at the same time.

"I don't understand," she mumbled into his shoulder for what felt like the thousandth time. "My septa told me..."

"Roelle was a sour-faced bitch who didn't know the first thing about men or me, so do not listen to a word she has to say about your worth," Jaime said passionately, his words vibrating in his throat. His hand came to her face and tilted her chin up so he could look her in the eye. Brienne had never noticed how green his eyes were before. "You have a husband who loves you, children who love you, a household who love you, a _family_ who love you, so please do not doubt it for a second, not for some lies an old hag told you when you were young and impressionable."

The Kingslayer she had known back in the Riverlands was aggressive and rude, always on the cusp of lashing her with his tongue. Ser Jaime Lannister was quite the opposite, though. He was gazing at her with such unabashed devotion that it almost burned her, yet it was beautiful to behold.

"Jaime?"

"Yes, wife?"

"I'm cold," she admitted, the early evening chill ghosting across her neck, "and I'm tired."

The whole world suddenly felt very heavy.

Pulling away from her, Ser Jaime smiled, then lifted her hand to his lips so he could press a kiss to her palm. The gesture was so unbelievably intimate that she felt somewhat disarmed.

"Come then, wench. We should get you to bed," he said, before getting to his feet and holding out his handless arm. Swayed by his unrelenting demands for intimacy, Brienne stood up and tucked his arm under hers, allowing him to lead her back into the castle.

To her surprise, no one looked askance when they saw the Evenstar arm in arm with her husband, him whispering secret things in her ear. Neither did anyone question when he took her straight up to the room they shared and began to play the role of her servant, helping her out of her boots, closing the windows, and stoking the fire. Brienne watched as he moved about the chamber, admiring the way the firelight danced in his hair, honey and gold. As she gazed at him, Jaime removed his own boots, before working at the buttons on his doublet. Her mouth went dry as he shucked it off, as well as his undershirt, revealing his muscled chest.

She swallowed heavily.

At the sound, Jaime turned to look at her and, noticing she was staring, smiled mischievously. "Does my lady wife enjoy what she sees?"

"I... errr... I..." said Brienne, a heated blush extending from her face down her chest and back again.

Ser Jaime laughed. "Come wife. You should sleep... before you overheat."

As if to prompt her, Jaime turned away from her and looked towards the fire, allowing her the private space to remove her clothes and change into her shift. She watched his muscled back suspiciously, moving quickly lest he turn around and see her. Yet Jaime did not look until she gave him permission, and once she uttered the word, he went to lay on the pallet on the floor while she took the bed.

Something felt wrong about that.

"Jaime?"

She sat up, so she could see him down on the pallet. To her surprise, he was already seated bolt upright, one leg out from underneath his blanket. Perhaps it was due to the fact she had called him.

"Yes?"

He gazed at her with such hope it was almost blinding.

"C-C-Can you come and... and sleep in bed next to me?" she asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice and the blush from her cheeks. "I don't want to be alone tonight. I don't--"

Before she had even finished her sentence, Ser Jaime was off the floor and launching himself into the bed, pulling the covers around them both with his one hand. Still seated upright, she looked down at him confusedly, until he patted the pillow, indicating for her to lay down. When she did so, he moved closer, his bare chest against her shoulder.

"Roll over," he whispered gently. "I want to hold you, and it is difficult to do that face on with the baby."

Although she felt a little apprehensive, Brienne did what he said and rolled onto her side. On tenterhooks, she waited for a few moments, wondering what her husband was going to do. He did not leave her wondering for long. Moving carefully so not to startle her, Ser Jaime came and laid down behind her, his body fitting against hers perfectly. As his breath tickled her ear, he lifted his stump and rested it on her belly.

"Are you comfortable, sweetling?" he asked, his voice so tender it felt like a kiss.

Resting her hand on his stump, Brienne tried to say something, but found her words were strangled by threatening tears. "Jaime, I..."

"Shhh..." he said, pressing his chest as close to her back as he possibly could. "We don't need to speak. I have no words to explain anymore, anyway. Hear what I need to say to you through my body. Feel what we are to each other through me holding you."

After that declaration, the tension in her body disappeared as she listened to his physicality; the blunt tenderness of an arm without a hand stroking her belly, the firm comfort of his chest against her back, his breath warm against her ear. Nobody had ever shown her such gentleness before and, even though it came from the Kingslayer, she was unable to deny her yearning for it. Longing for closeness, she placed one hand on his stump, feeling the knot of scar tissue she found there. He made a sound at the back of his throat as she began to trace her fingers over the patterned, mutilated skin. She stopped, concerned.

"No," he said suddenly, trying to reach for her with his stump. "Don't stop. I like it when you touch me like that, because I can imagine you are holding my hand."

Dumbstruck over the fact somebody wanted such sweetness from her, Brienne picked up from where she left off, trailing the paths across his severed wrist. He sighed and relaxed into her once more, his short beard prickling against the soft skin of her neck.

"How did you lose your hand?" she asked suddenly, wanting to know the history behind these scars and lines. "The last time I saw you, you still had it."

He let out a huff of quiet laughter against her ear. "I told you, I am not going to tell you how we fell in love, and my hand is part of it."

That raised more questions than it answered. "But..."

"Don't worry about the past," he said, slipping his top leg over hers. After that move, she felt well and truly surrounded by him. Part of her felt tentative and scared, but mostly she just felt safe in his arms. "Think about now, about you and me, about this moment, and just relax."

 _Relax._ Brienne of Tarth was not the type of woman who could relax. Someone was always coming for her, whether that be an opponent with a sword or potential husband with a cruel jape. Yet Jaime Lannister seemed to be trying to tell her that things could be different, if she just accepted his devotion.

His strange, terrifying, sincere devotion.

As she lay by his side, every inch his wife, Brienne listened to Jaime's breathing slow as he relaxed, his body heavy against hers. It was all so easy, so soft, so domestic, and so strange that she felt she had more questions, more questions than he could ever answer.

"Jaime?"

"Mmm?" he replied, not opening his eyes.

She tried to think of the best way to put it. "What do we do now?"

In asking the question, Brienne was thinking of the years stretched out before her; of the time in which she would watch her children grow, become more a wife and a mother than a sworn sword, and spend time on Tarth with her husband. Jaime seemed not to think so long term.

"Sleep, wench," he whispered, before planting a kiss on the patch of skin behind her ear. "Go to sleep in my arms. I'll keep you safe."

She closed her eyes, and for a moment allowed herself to luxuriate in the feeling of his warm body against hers.

 _Perhaps this is what love should feel like,_ she thought, as his chest expanded and contracted with his breathing against her back. Every exhalation tickled her ear. It was so soothing. _Perhaps I should let this feeling in. Perhaps I shouldn't be scared._

Cocooned in Jaime's arms, sleep came for Brienne not long after.

It was the best slumber she had had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! As ever, I would love to hear what you think in the form of a comment or kudo. Every single one makes me super happy!


	7. Their Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne reckon with what their life together truly means...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this is late! I had a bit of a panic this morning before uploading it and made a few tweaks. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it!

Birdsong.

Brienne did not open her eyes immediately, because she instantly knew there were no comforting arms around her, no strong chest against her back, no soothing hushes next to her ear. Jaime was gone, the future was gone, and Brienne was once back in the waking world.

The birds sang.

Opening her eyes, she surveyed all before her. Ser Cleos was still on his side of the clearing, running a tired hand through his messy hair. Sleeping rough caused him to look even more homespun than he already did, a Frey through and through. The opposite was true of Jaime Lannister, though, a golden lion of the Rock right to the bone. Already awake, he was staring at Brienne with a hungry expression, as if she was defenceless prey that was his to play with. Even though they had not yet broken their fast, perhaps he had already thought up a way to escape her.

"Dreaming, my lady?" he asked, his expression teasing.

Groggily, Brienne lifted her head off the weirwood stump to properly look at him. The Kingslayer was still tied to his tree, just as she left him, sneering at her with all the cruelty and arrogance she had first encountered when listening to his and Lady Catelyn's conversation in that godforsaken dungeon. Brienne could not help but feel confused. Having just had Ser Jaime's arms around her moments before, the Kingslayer's predatory expression did not seem to fit with the man she had known on Tarth; older, but gentle and affectionate. Given the dissonance, Brienne could only stare at him disbelievingly, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

That she was gazing at him so intently made the Kingslayer snort with laughter. "What are you staring at, woman? You look as if you've been kicked in the head by a horse."

"I dreamed of you," Brienne replied without thinking, seeking confirmation of another man's feelings from this contemptible wretch, this distant echo. "I dreamed of you and I..."

"No doubt killed me the first chance you had," the Kingslayer barked, obviously highly amused at the fact he figured in her dreams. "You are never very kind to me, wench, and I imagine your attitude extends to the world of dreams."

Brienne was about to snap back at him, but she stopped herself because she heard _it_. The way he said _wench_ was full of harshness and ridicule, while back on Tarth the word had been mellifluous, affectionate even. That soft subtle difference told a story that Ser Jaime had not been able to explain in the garden, no matter how he spoke to her with his silences that ached with years of unsaid memories.

The truth hit her like a thunderbolt.

 _Jaime Lannister will love me,_ she thought incredulously. _It is no lie. He will love me, I will be his sunlight and his stars, his mornings and his evenings, and the two of us will have twelve children._

_Gods._

She only realised she had been staring at him a little too long when Jaime let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Wench, come and untie me from this tree. I want to break my fast and to get back to my sister before winter comes."

 _His sister._ The thought slapped her in the face sharply. The Kingslayer longed for his beautiful sister back in the capital, no matter if Brienne's lonely weary heart had painted her a fantasy of another life in her dreams.

 _That is all it was,_ Brienne told herself, looking down at the gnarled old weirwood stump she had rested her head on while sleeping. _A dream, nothing more. A vision conjured by me wanting Renly and wanting home and wanting a warm hand to hold mine. That I have had no one to talk to but the Kingslayer for days made me give my future husband his face._

_That is all._

Mulling on the stinging inevitability of her life, Brienne was only roused from her stupor when Ser Cleos interrupted her train of thought by speaking up. "My lady, my cousin is correct. We really should get going. I do not trust these woods."

She knew Ser Cleos was right. It was a long way back to King's Landing, so there was no time to dwell on fantasies. She shook the memory away, turning that other life into a fleeting shadow she would not remember by the end of the day.

It was only a dream, after all.

* * *

Even though she was awake, Brienne refused to open her eyes.

Her last few days had been a living hell. In spite of falling asleep in her feathered bed, excitedly anticipating the return of her beloved husband from Braavos, she had woken up decidedly not on Tarth. Instead, Brienne found herself twenty years in her past, with a young, strong body and an oath to fulfil to a long dead liege lady.

Lost and confused, she had almost screamed when she first saw Ser Cleos alive and well across the clearing, yawning as he got up from his leafy bed. Yet it was the Kingslayer who turned her blood to ice. Jaime was twenty years younger than when she had last seen him, golden and whole and beautiful and yet utterly, utterly vile.

"Wench! Get up! My coz is ready to go, I am still tied to a tree, and you are holding us all up by sleeping in. I did not think Lady Catelyn would grant me such a lazy gaoler."

Given his obnoxious tone, she found it surprisingly easy to slip into her allotted role. "Shut up Kingslayer! You can stay tied to that tree as long as I deem it necessary!"

He smirked at her in the same way he sometimes did when he teased her in bed. "Oh wench, I cannot. You have a holy oath. You are meant to take me to King's Landing, remember?"

Of course she remembered. She remembered nearly every moment of this because it was the beginning of it all, of her love for Jaime. Not sure whether this was a strange dream or if she had actually slipped back into her past, Brienne made sure to keep everything as it had been fearing that if she changed one single second, she would wake up the next morning and lose Jaime, their peace and their children. And, even though the Kingslayer was a royal pain in the arse, she would not give up her Jaime for all the gold in Casterly Rock.

He was the only thing she would permit herself to be selfish about.

So Brienne played a role. She untied the Kingslayer from the tree, gave him some stale bread, and then accompanied him while he went to pass water amongst the trees. She continued the journey towards King's Landing with her companions. She tried to act surprised when they were waylaid by outlaw archers on the road between Maidenpool and Duskendale, then shocked at the death of Ser Cleos, and even let Jaime steal her sword just as he had done before. In the years since, Jaime had lamented that they had only ever had one proper fight when they both had two hands, so Brienne relished replaying it, even when the tip of his sword nicked her inner thigh.

 _Jaime was right,_ she thought as she parried him blow for blow, _fighting_ _is the only thing as good as fucking. How did I not realise right from this moment that we are just destined to be?_

Yet it had not all been reliving good memories. Soon after the fight, the warring couple were caught by Vargo Hoat and the Brave Companions, turning Brienne from captor to comforter. Sinking back into the worst days of her life, Brienne found it near impossible not to pull Jaime close and kiss him, to tell him everything would be alright and that they would know better days.

So when she woke up that morning, Brienne kept her eyes closed, and wished she was not trapped in her personal hell.

"Jaime, Jaime, Jaime," she whispered, chanting his name like a prayer. "I will return to you. I will come back to you. I swear it on my life."

"Mmmm, wench? Did you say something?"

She opened her eyes.

The stars above her were not real but painted; decorations for the canopy of her four-poster bed on Tarth. Behind her back was not the hard ground, but an eiderdown mattress, and the arm slung around her swollen belly was handless but healed. In her shock at finding herself at home once again, she turned her head to the right to see Jaime lying beside her, smiling sleepily.

"Morning," he said tentatively, his big green eyes full of trepidation.

Brienne froze, as if she were a travelling pilgrim come across an angel on the road. Although he was older than the Jaime that she had left back in the Riverlands, she thought him a hundred times more handsome. There was silver in his beard and hair, and crow's feet around his eyes, but he looked at her with such love that the warmth in his gaze outshone his fading physical beauty.

"Jaime!" she gasped. The name of her beloved came out as a rasping croak, sounding more like a strangled cry than a joyful exhalation.

Her husband was wrongfooted by her reaction. Having expected him to bundle her into her arms and kiss her, Brienne was somewhat perplexed when Jaime removed his arm from around her waist and sat up. It almost looked like a retreat.

"I am sorry," he mumbled, going to get out of the bed. "I should have slept on the pallet last night... it's just we were talking and... what I mean to say, is..."

Not understanding his rambling, Brienne hurriedly launched herself at him, pulling him into an eager and hungry kiss. As she wrapped one arm around his broad chest and bunched another in his hair, Jaime froze, keeping his mouth shut.

Brienne pulled back. "Jaime, what is the matter?"

"You don't have to do this... you don't have to feel obliged to..."

"Obliged?" she replied, raising her eyebrows. "You know I would not lie with you just because I was _obliged,_ Jaime. I have never been that type of wife."

He narrowed his eyes at her uncomprehendingly. "Then why...?"

"Because you've been away in Braavos for weeks and I've missed you. Why didn't you tell me your ship had returned early? Why didn't you wake me the moment you arrived?"

At that question, Jaime really did look confused. "Arrived? I've been back for days."

Brienne blinked.

_"What?"_

"Days and days," he continued, tilting his head to the side as he observed her with bafflement. "And when I _did_ arrive back, I got into bed with you and rubbed up against you in an attempt to get you all hot for me, but then you pulled a knife out from under your pillow and threatened me with instant death if I came anywhere near you."

That really _did_ sound like an impossible tale.

"What? You've been back for days?" she repeated, shaking her head uncomprehendingly, "but I... I don't remember."

His bemusement turned to exasperation. "You don't remember? _Again?"_

Given his expression, Brienne suddenly felt a little annoyed and pouted at him. "What do you mean when you say _again?"_ she asked, not thinking herself particularly forgetful.

"I mean," began Jaime, emphasising both words. "For the past few days, you've been acting as if you do not know me. You told me that you could not remember anything since those days in the Riverlands, that you could not remember us or our children or anything that had happened since."

"I have?" she said, surprised.

"Yes," he replied with a click of his tongue. "Please don't tell me you've forgotten everything that has happened since I came back from Braavos. I don't think I can take any more of this." There was something teasing in his tone that caused Brienne to shove his shoulder reproachfully. At that playful gesture, Jaime's smile grew and the apprehension slowly retreated from his gaze. He reached out and took her hand in his. "Do you remember me now?"

"Yes," she said, reaching out to cup his face with her other hand. Jaime leant into her touch. "I remember you. The man who saved me from rapers, then saved me from a bear. The man who gave me a magic sword to fight the monsters with. The man who loves so much, but asks for so little in return. I know you. You are Jaime. My Jaime."

His relief was as palpable as the first sunshine of the morning, of the snowdrops in spring. "You know me?" he echoed, smiling.

"I do. I don't remember the last few days at Evenfall Hall... I wasn't here... but I do remember you."

He tilted his head in confusion. "You weren't here? What do you mean?"

"I was in the Riverlands," she said honestly, wanting to lay all the pieces out for him, "with you... and Ser Cleos... and Hoat."

Jaime went a little pale at her admission. "What? You were... _there?_ "

"I know it sounds crazy, but it is true," she said, trying to find some way to explain it to him that would not seem completely mad. "I woke up and I was twenty years younger. Ser Cleos was over the other side of the clearing, and you were there tied to a tree. Gods, I had forgotten what an arse you were."

Jaime laughed. " _I_ was an arse? You should have seen how you talked to me when I came back from Braavos. I've had to be on my best behaviour ever since."

"Awww, were you saying sweet things to me?" she cooed. "I'm sorry I missed it."

"Never, I'm not sweet," he said, but she could tell from his blush he was lying. "You... I mean that _version_ of you just needed a little reassuring."

Knowing her husband, Brienne was aware of what that would have consisted of. Although Jaime always insisted he was not sweet, he was simultaneously the most cutting and dearest man in the world. If she had felt lost and alone, Jaime would have not been able to resist protecting her.

"You believe me then? That I travelled?"

Jaime nodded, and she did not doubt his sincerity for a second. "Yes, because the woman I shared my bed with last night was not you as you are now. She was scared."

"Of you?" asked Brienne, suddenly feeling very guilty at the pain Jaime must have gone through the past few days. He was very sensitive, even if he tried to hide it.

It took him a moment to answer, as if he was finding the best way to say it. "Not of me, no. When have you ever been scared of me, wench?"

"Never."

"Well then, you weren't scared of me," he said, his voice growing hoarse. "Angry at me, perhaps, but not scared." He looked down at where their hands were joined, and his expression turned sad. "What you seemed to fear most of all was my affection itself."

A lump grew in Brienne's throat. She remembered those tortured days of her youth when she had felt like nothing and nobody, and was convinced that every man would only want to take from her and use her as a game. Her beliefs had only started to change when she had fallen in love with Jaime, and he had taught her that it was an emotion that could be reciprocated, and not just spent endlessly with no reward. The words to convey her warm feelings having deserted her, Brienne leant forward and kissed her husband, and he melted into her at once.

It was a slow and steady dance after that. Although they had been parted for some time, Brienne could tell that Jaime was feeling a little fragile and needed consoling. Moving closer to him, she went to sit on his lap then ran her thumbs across his cheekbones as they kissed, her palms cupped around his jaw. As she sucked his tongue, she could feel him getting hard.

Brienne pulled away so she could gaze into his eyes. "You taught me not to be afraid anymore," she murmured, running one hand down the centre of his chest, right across his heart. "You taught me what love is... _you..."_

"You taught me the same, Brienne... my Brienne..." he replied desperately, before kissing her again, "Brienne. My love."

After that, there was little use for words.

In a fumble of hands and clothes, Jaime and Brienne slowly disrobed. Her shift was pulled over her head, and she helped him shuffle his breeches over his hips, revealing his persistent hardness. Without waiting a moment, Brienne reached down and began to stroke his cock, which made Jaime let out a keening whine.

"Oh wench, you tease... you... _oh..."_

" _Shh_ , my love," she said gently, moving so she could push him back onto the bed and tower over him, gaining total control of his pleasure. "Let me make you feel good... let me show you how much I adore you..."

Jaime gave her a little moan that she took for acquiescence, so she began to pump his cock. Immediately overcome, he closed his eyes and laid his head back into the pillow, allowing her to watch the tendons in his neck strain as he began to move his hips in shallow, aborted thrusts.

"Brienne," he groaned as she moved her hand faster and faster. "Let me fuck you... please... oh gods, please... I've waited weeks, and I can't wait anymore..."

Smiling, Brienne positioned herself right over his cock. "Not yet, sweetling. I've been bad to you the past few days, let me make that up to you."

"It wasn't you, I know it wasn't you," he gasped, his stump bumping against her hip in his desperation to hold her. "I know you love me... please let us be together."

Although she had been planning a long torturous game for the both of them, Brienne's resolve did not last long in the face of his tenderness. Unable to hold back any longer, she ran the tip of his cock against where she was most swollen and sensitive, then sank down on him slowly, gasping as she took him inside her. Jaime moaned as if she had punched him, then gazed up at her with burning eyes as she flattened her palms against his chest and began to ride him.

Green met blue.

"Gods, Brienne, I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, my love... _oh,_ you must never go away again."

"I won't, I promise," he sighed, lifting his hand to squeeze her breast. She arched her back in order to fill his palm. "If I have to... _urgh..._ go to Braavos to... _ahh..._ discuss marble mines again you can come with me. We can... _ahhh..._ fuck in the Sealord's palace... on the marbled floor... of his ballroom... I'll fuck you right there... so everyone knows... _ahhh..._ how much I want you... how much I _love_ you... You deserve... deserve... _uhh_... a queen's bed... _ahh_... wench, my wench... my Brienne..."

Moving her hands from his chest to his face, Brienne ran her fingers through his beard. Jaime's eyes nearly rolled back into his head with pleasure. "I don't need a queen's bed... _urgh... oh..._ I need _our_ bed. I need you," Brienne gasped. No longer able to bear being so far from him, she slowed the bounce of her hips in order to lean down and kiss him. Jaime's mouth dropped open in surprise, but his shock was only momentary as they tangled their tongues together, trying to find the best way to kiss and be close around Brienne's pregnant belly.

They began laughing against each other's lips when they realised that it was an impossibility.

"Sit up, wench," said Jaime through his smile, gazing at her heatedly. "I know how much you love to ride, so ride me. Ride me hard."

Laughing at the easy way he always demanded what he wanted, Brienne did what she was told, but not before putting her hands on his shoulders and loading all her weight on them. As she began to fulfil his request, Brienne locked her gaze with his, knowing she found nothing in the world more arousing than seeing the worshipful adoration in Jaime's eyes that he had long forgotten how to hide, and how nakedly he revelled in it.

"My love," she murmured, as he grasped onto her right wrist with his left and shoved his stump next to where they were joined, in order to give her the friction she needed. There was nothing that made Brienne happier than the realisation that she had finally persuaded Jaime that she loved every bit of him, even the parts that he thought were broken and useless, that he detested. "Oh, my love..."

"Brienne," he responded, encasing the word in a guttural groan. "I'm not going to last... we've been too long apart..."

"Stay with me Jaime. Just a little more..."

A drop of sweat ran down his temple and along his jaw, and Brienne had a sudden compulsion to lick it off his burning skin. However, his eyes were too entrancing, too all-consuming, so she kept gazing into them, lost. She remembered how many years it had taken to get to this point, where she could be confident enough to have him this way and draw out his pleasure without a scrap of shame and anxiety. The first time they had lain together, shortly after she had run Oathkeeper through Lady Catelyn's missing heart, it had been so hurried and fumbled that there had been nothing to do but let Jaime kiss the tears from her face and marvel at how strange it felt to have him inside her, sheathed to the hilt. It had been the morning after when the worries had crept back in. How could he find pleasure in her when he had once had the most beautiful woman in the world? It had been months before she found the courage to make requests of him as they fucked, and nearly a full twelve moons before he had convinced her to straddle him like this and be fully in control of their love making.

 _It is so strange that I once distrusted this love,_ she thought as Jaime gazed up at her in wonder. _It was the first beautiful thing in my life, and it has brought me so many more pieces of happiness._

"Brienne... _Brienne..."_

"Oh Jaime... I've missed you so... I've... _oh..._ Jaime..."

It was the repeated incantations of his name that eventually tipped her husband over the edge. Flattening the soles of his feet against the bed, Jaime thrust up into her, almost knocking her off him. However, she clung on tight and watched with rapt attention as he came, every muscle in his body tensing as he fucked his seed inside her. Brienne closed her eyes, giving into the feeling of being wanted, of being whole, of being his. Needing to satisfy her, Jaime gave a few more thrusts before slumping back on the bed, exhausted.

Brienne smiled as she watched him.

Now he was older, Jaime was always more tired after sex, but she could hardly bring herself to care. It had always been so beautiful with him, every single time. The pleasure was in the nearness and the knowing, of the joining as one. She didn't need tricks or skill, she just needed _him._

As Jaime began to journey down from his orgasm, Brienne climbed off him and laid down beside him, wrapping her arms around him as she did so. His eyes fluttered closed and she felt a great swell of love and affection overcome her. She kissed his cheeks, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, and his lips in an effort to feel close to him, to let him know that she was here and would look after him, even when he was at his most vulnerable.

 _My Jaime,_ she thought, the recollection of that long dead man with two hands and hatred in his heart disappearing into the forest of memory. _My Jaime..._

"Brienne?"

"Mmm?"

"Did you finish?"

"No," she replied truthfully, "but it doesn't matter. It doesn't..."

That was not a good enough answer for Jaime, and he immediately rolled over and looked into her eyes, before dropping his hand between her thighs and touching her where she needed him the most.

"I love you, Brienne," he murmured as he worked his hand in quick circles, making her pant against his cheek, her desire building and building. "Love you... so much..."  
  
"J-Jaime... Jaime..."

"So much, wench. You are mine. Tell me you are mine."

"I'm yours, Jaime... forever yours."

"That's it, my wench. Come for me... please... tell me I satisfy you... that... _oh..._ I make you feel good... let me stay here... in your arms... between your legs... always..."

It did not take long for Brienne to find her release, as Jaime knew her so well that he led her there with skill and sincerity. Overcome, she slumped against him as stars danced in front of her eyes, and let him wrap his body around her, pulling her close.

"I've got you, wench," he whispered. "I've got you."

Lost in him, lost in his love, Brienne grabbed hold of every scrap of happiness she had with Jaime as she clung to him, quivering with the strength of her release. He just was so warm and so noble and so very, very _good_ that she never wanted anything more than him and her, their children and their life together on Tarth.

 _You and me, Jaime,_ she thought. _The best part of my life._

In that moment of clarity, she banished all thought of her recent days in the Riverlands with the Kingslayer out of her mind.

It was only a dream, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's finished (and yes... a tiny bit of smut in this chapter)!
> 
> I wanted to thank everyone who read this story and enjoyed it, especially those who gave comments and kudos. They mean the world to me. Ladybugbear2, thank you for your inspirational prompts; I hope this even slightly lived up to what you were hoping for or imagining. 
> 
> I will be super amazed if anyone guesses who has written this, given that I've never written a story like this before, but it has really given me the book canon bug, so I may consider writing more of it in the future!


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